"Even as I spin this web I am reaching for my phone. I call someone, not a doctor or a sage, not a mystic or a physician, just a bloke like me — another alcoholic, who I know knows how I feel. The phone rings and I half hope he’ll just let it ring out. It’s 4a.m. in London. He’s asleep, he can’t hear the phone, he won’t pick up. I indicate left, heading to Santa Monica. The ringing stops, then the dry-mouthed nocturnal mumble:

‘Hello. You all right, mate?’

He picked up. And for another day, thank God, I don’t have to."


Pretty incredible.

http://www.spectator.co.uk/features/8857821/fixing-a-hole/