Facing Up To Addiction

A recent Mayor of London has shown the capital has 25 per cent more dependent drinkers than the British average. Chris Green went to Haggerston to meet the anonymous alcoholics of Shoreditch who are fighting to get back control of their lives.

A stone’s throw from Hoxton Square, where London’s hippest young things congregate every weekend to drink themselves into oblivion, a social gathering of a very different kind is taking place. Each Thursday night in a hall attached to St Leonard’s Church, recovering alcoholics from all over Hackney assemble to share the most intimate details of their problems with total strangers.

Tonight, I am a privileged observer at the meeting of Hackney’s Alcoholics Anonymous. But my chaperone for the evening, a tall, bald man named Chris, takes one look at my notebook and grimaces.

“The first thing is, you’ll not be allowed to take that in,” he says. “It’s as bad as a camera. People who have only recently found sobriety get very paranoid – they might freak out if they see you taking notes.” He grins, sensing my nervousness. “Don’t worry, they’re a good lot really.”

Chris is a Project Manager at Acorn House, a drop-in centre and temporary lodging for male alcoholics. Since opening in 2002, it has expanded to provide a home for 16 people. They are all required to attend the weekly AA meetings at the church around the corner. Like many of the staff at Acorn House, Chris himself is a recovering alcoholic: he had his last drink ten years ago.

Entering the hall, I am told that on no account should I say that I am a journalist. “If anyone asks,” Chris whispers, “you’re just a visitor, and you’re with me.”

But I am not eyed with suspicion. In fact, several people come up to me, murmuring words of welcome and beaming as they shake my hand.

The hall is wide, with 60 chairs encircling a central table, garish, hand-painted scrolls dangle from the walls, displaying maxims such as “The First Drink Does The Damage” and “Think: Keep It Simple.” Occupying the back wall is a blue banner that proclaims: “Sober In Shoreditch: You Are No Longer Alone.”

The first speaker approaches the microphone: “Hello,” he says, “My name is Ian, and I am an alcoholic.” An exultant shout rings out across the room: “Hi, Ian.” Everybody replies except me.

Sharon, a bubbly thirty-year-old redhead, is introduced. She begins to talk about her struggle to overcome alcoholism, and recalls a chaotic childhood, broken marriage and many cider-fuelled binges.

This week Sharon is celebrating being sober for six years. Within the AA, such an event is known as a ‘birthday’, and is marked by the presentation of a plastic casino chip. I ask Chris about these.

“Well, a lot of people don’t bother with them, but we like to do it here,” he says. “Around this room, there are people who have only been sober for 24 hours, and others who have been sober for 24 years. They all get a different chip – it’s something to aim for.”

The first member to give his reaction to Sharon’s story is Tom, a wizened old Irishman. He says the worst part of his alcoholism was its effect on his children. “When I got home from work,” he recalls, “they would never know if I was going to be violent and abusive or weeping and gentle.” He attended his eldest son’s wedding over Christmas, but is ashamed that he cannot remember him growing up.

Another member is Cameron, a middle-aged Scot, who recalls his drunken excesses in Glasgow in the 1980s. “I was in Thailand on holiday last summer,” he says, “and my wallet was stolen. I was a wee bit angry about it, but then I thought to myself, ten years ago I didn’t even have a wallet.”

And so the stories continue, well into the night. The younger, more nervous members begin to respond, taking the cue from their elders. There is a tale of domestic abuse – both given and received – from a mother who is barely thirty. People from every strata of society are here: a well spoken, executive-looking type in a tweed jacket; a C-list pop star wearing a t-shirt and sneakers. The former talks of the pressure his parents put on him to succeed; the latter his hectic lifestyle.

The evening is finally over, and it has been an exhausting experience. “So, how was your first ever Alcoholics Anonymous meeting?” Chris asks me with a grin. I’m not sure I know. But as I wind my way back towards the tube station, I walk past the trendy Shoreditch bars without so much as a backward glance.

Copyright of The Hackney Post