A good friend of mine, an almost lifelong heroin user who, more recently, has diversified into crack cocaine and therefore requires a quick blast from an oxygen cylinder before going for a walk, rang me not so long ago with a warning: “Rod, I’m worried about your drinking,” he said. “You’ve really got to look after yourself.” I couldn’t speak for a few moments, out of incredulity and indignation; I consume on average half a bottle of wine per day, which is too much, sure — but to be lectured by a crack-addled skaghead with half a lung and the facial complexion of that character in Munch’s The Scream seemed, to me, pushing it. (comment on the Nutt sacking in the Times)
He explained further: “In my profession [he’s a rock singer], the drunks check out in their forties and fifties. We smackheads usually hold things together for another 20 years more.” Colloquially — and with a few famous exceptions — he was right.
He explained further: “In my profession [he’s a rock singer], the drunks check out in their forties and fifties. We smackheads usually hold things together for another 20 years more.” Colloquially — and with a few famous exceptions — he was right.
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