45 days. →[More:]
I saw in the New Year at the Alkathon in east London last night. It was a lot of fun, I saw loads of people I hadn't seen in ages, and my friend Richard played in the New Year on the bagpipies. I wish I could've taken pictures but, well, you don't at an AA party, it's one of those taboo things.
I got talking to one man, an American, unusual to find an American in this part of east London. Originally from St Petersburg, FLA, he'd been sober a few years and had been transferred to London a couple of years ago by his company, to be Managing Director of an internet company. He'd been living in Kensington (the most expensive part of London) and he was intelligent and articulate.
But 45 days ago he picked up a drink again. In those 45 days he'd lost his job, his six-figure salary, his home, his wife, his belongings, his money, his passport. He'd ended up in Plymouth, and had no idea how he'd got there. It's a long way from London. All he had was the clothes he stood up in, which were a cut above the clothes street drunks normally wear, beautifully made and obviously expensive. He'd been brought to the Alkathon by a young man he'd met on the streets who'd heard about it at an AA meeting in Central London, where they were both sleeping rough.
That's all it took - 45 days - for this man to lose everything because of drink.
I hope he makes it. The only thing he has left to lose now is his life.