We got to leave the centre this afternoon and it felt like a combination of a school trip and a prison break: A collection of giggling raggle fraggles set free on the London public transport system without our keepers.
The occasion was the Annual London Narcotics Anonymous Convention at Euston. At first I didn't want to go but it was mandatory so I said I'd tag along "out of interest". It was the first day of a weekend attended by more than 1000 recovering addicts which will include a drink and drug free rave tomorrow night (a step too far for me I think. I don't mind being sober but everyone? Just weird.). It was a bit overwhelming and I left after an hour or two. I mean, they were selling Tshirts and mugs there - who buys that stuff (me next year)?
Before one of the meetings a statement was read asking that any members of the press identify themselves at reception and stressing the importance of anonymity. Although I was there legitimately I felt nervous. Sometimes - and I guess this is an unhealthy distancing technique - I kind of imagine that I'm just there (rehab, meetings) as an observer, for an article. That I'm an undercover journalist so dedicated to getting the story that I spent the last decade developing an alcohol problem so I could infiltrate the system with verisimilitude.
Which leads me to think about this blog. Am I doing is as therapy, to keep in practice writing while I'm out of work, for attention, to inform/amuse my friends, or to uncover some kind of radical new truth about the rehab process that will make my name as a fearless gonzo reporter? I'm feeling a bit unsure about it all - as well as fearing being called upstairs to the counsellors' office to see this url on the screen as I'm handed my coat (I feared similar years ago when I did this cleaner blog).
INFINITE JEST: Pages 204-211 (read on bench on the Greenway next to the Olympic stadium).
A section on the tattoos of Ennett House residents. In the next few weeks, I might ask my peers to tell me about theirs.
Bereft without your blogs this weekend.
ReplyDeleteI remember the hardest book I read was called the Illuminati. Hard work. Never really understood it
I'll be back tomorrow. I'm a bit ill and just had a total pressure-free weekend.
ReplyDeleteThere are some books that I think it might be better to return to later in life - with more time and wisdom (eg. me trying to read The Unbearable Lightness of Being when I was 15).