I will never forget the look on my father’s face the day I, aged 32, suffered a drug-induced seizure in front of him.
His expression was more than disappointment. He was devastated. Staring at the son he’d given everything – a child of utmost privilege, with a trust fund most people dream of – he was tearful and puzzled, wondering how on earth I’d fallen to such a dramatic low.
That night, which resulted in hospital treatment for drug poisoning, was my lowest ebb.
I’d met my father – a hugely successful property magnate – for lunch following an all-night bender involving dangerous
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