Kandinskyesque
Friend of Leo's
I'm just home from a long drive, through the fog, after giving a talk at the rehab I crawled through the doors of 10 years ago today.
I'm wary of thinking that it's an achievement of my own. It's most definitely not.
There's a whole load of clean and sober people who led me by the hand to get here, for whom I could never repay other than to pay it forward.
Giving a talk to people just in rehab was an absolute privilege, that feeling of usefulness, lending them hope that was loaned to me when I had none, gave tonight a buzz at least equal to the best gig I've ever played.
I've a real affinity with the big house on Glasgow's south side where my clean and sober journey began.
Nearly 28 years ago, I stood in the car park of a pub opposite the rehab, smoking a jazz woodbine with my brother and a couple of friends. We were celebrating the birth of my daughter the day before, which was also the day of the first UK lottery draw.
While we were discussing our fantasies of what we would do with our winnings, if or when our numbers came up, a cold reality hit me.
I turned to my brother and my friends and said...
"Promise me something! If I ever win the lottery, stick me in that rehab building across the road or I'll be dead in 6 months!"
Fast forward 18 years, and I've still never won a brass farthing on the lottery but I'm crawling/staggering through the doors of that same rehab building with the prospect of missing my daughter's 18th birthday party in a week's time.
My daughter tells me every year that her favourite birthday present ever was me going in there and coming out a month later clean and sober. She got her dad back, she tells me.
Going there tonight, 10 years after my first time in the place and nearly 28 years after being honest enough to admit I had a problem whilst standing in the shadow of the place, felt like I've just completed an ever-increasing circle.
I can't guarantee I be able to go back next year but I'll promise myself tomorrow I'll do my best to keep it in the day. Just like I've promised myself each day for the last 3653 days.
I've no idea why I've posted this, other than seeing my thoughts turn into black pixels on my screen seem like a better option than having them swim around between my ears.
I'm wary of thinking that it's an achievement of my own. It's most definitely not.
There's a whole load of clean and sober people who led me by the hand to get here, for whom I could never repay other than to pay it forward.
Giving a talk to people just in rehab was an absolute privilege, that feeling of usefulness, lending them hope that was loaned to me when I had none, gave tonight a buzz at least equal to the best gig I've ever played.
I've a real affinity with the big house on Glasgow's south side where my clean and sober journey began.
Nearly 28 years ago, I stood in the car park of a pub opposite the rehab, smoking a jazz woodbine with my brother and a couple of friends. We were celebrating the birth of my daughter the day before, which was also the day of the first UK lottery draw.
While we were discussing our fantasies of what we would do with our winnings, if or when our numbers came up, a cold reality hit me.
I turned to my brother and my friends and said...
"Promise me something! If I ever win the lottery, stick me in that rehab building across the road or I'll be dead in 6 months!"
Fast forward 18 years, and I've still never won a brass farthing on the lottery but I'm crawling/staggering through the doors of that same rehab building with the prospect of missing my daughter's 18th birthday party in a week's time.
My daughter tells me every year that her favourite birthday present ever was me going in there and coming out a month later clean and sober. She got her dad back, she tells me.
Going there tonight, 10 years after my first time in the place and nearly 28 years after being honest enough to admit I had a problem whilst standing in the shadow of the place, felt like I've just completed an ever-increasing circle.
I can't guarantee I be able to go back next year but I'll promise myself tomorrow I'll do my best to keep it in the day. Just like I've promised myself each day for the last 3653 days.
I've no idea why I've posted this, other than seeing my thoughts turn into black pixels on my screen seem like a better option than having them swim around between my ears.
