In Conversation: Geoff Dyer
Geoff Dyer has just returned home from giving a reading in Belfast from his just released memoir, titled Homework, which documents the first eighteen years of his life in working-class Cheltenham. He’s a little hungover. He’d been out after drinking Guinness. “As you get older, the things you like take so much longer to recover from,” he says, “even the simplest things, like drinking or drug-taking or playing tennis.” We’re in Geoff’s study, which is stacked floor to ceiling with books on just about everything. He’s often got three or four volumes on the go at a time, he says, and his west London home is strewn with proof: there are books, waiting, on tables, chairs, mantelpieces, sofas, by the door, on the terrace.
The Corpse Reviver
I’ve long been an admirer of spirit-forward cocktails: rye Manhattans, bone-dry Martinis, Negronis edited to be heavier on the gin and lighter on everything else. For the most part, the closest fruit ever gets to my drinking glass is as a wedge of lime perched on the lip of a gin & tonic.
But there comes a time when the zippy brightness and acid kick of a citrusy cocktail is appreciated, and it’s typically when I’ve had one too many of the aforementioned spiritous drinks the night before. On such occasions, the first drink of the day is pre-ordained: The Corpse Reviver.
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