“The one miserly charity of drink is that it strips away memory. You start by forgetting the last hour of Saturday night, a name, a conversation, how you lost your shoes, and then, as life begins to tumble like an up-ended skier, so the avalanche of forgetting comes and sweeps up the evidence, burying the remembrance in a soft white darkness, a roaring silence. After a time you’ve forgotten more than you can remember. For me, out of a decade I have perhaps two years, perhaps three, of remembrances … There is a hope, if not a reliable fact, that this is the best I can muster, this is a retrospective truth gleaned from the shards and tesserae. An attempt to reimagine something lost, an emotional archaeology” A.A. Gill
Thirty years ago, aged thirty, at a treatment centre in the west of England, A. A. Gill lay in the last-chance saloon, in the dark of a dormitory with six strangers.
POUR ME, A Life, his dark yet laugh-out-loud memoir, charts the soggy tangle of a shredded life; the year between the end of his marriage and the end of his drinking on April 1st. Or perhaps it was not a year - it might be only six months or eighteen. None of this is hand-on-Bible fact.
Being A. A. Gill, this is no faith-infused tale of redemption. It isn't an account of a debauched drink-and-drug hell; he has no message, help, or encouragement for those who still stagger. There are no lessons to learn, no handy hints or golden rules.
A. A. Gill is probably the most read columnist in Britain. Every weekend he entertains readers of The Sunday Times with his biting observations on television and his unsparing, deeply knowledgeable restaurant reviews, which have been published as Paper View and Table Talk. He has written three books on travel: A. A. Gill is Away, Previous Convictions and A. A. Gill is Further Away, as well as two novels, and full-length studies of England, The Angry Island, and America, The Golden Door.
Saturday 18 June @ 12.45pm - Harmony Marquee