I'm a Celebrity - Get Me Off My Addiction

There's a modern genre of books which chart the horror of addiction and the wonder of recovery: the best of them are by the footballer Tony Adams and the writer Professor John Sutherland, with lesser examples by Brian Clough and George Best. Such people, with their new lives (and, in Best's case, new liver), are great examples of human strength, inspiring to anyone who has had to battle with their appetites.

The past week, though, has shown the other side of recovery. A number of public figures with excess consumption in their past have demonstrated just how tenuous and uncomfortable recovery can be. While promoting an autobiography which admits he used to drink too much, the Manchester United captain Roy Keane has put his whole career in doubt with dangerous behaviour on the pitch and inadvisable remarks off it. George W Bush, another reformed boozer, has been subject to rumours about his continuing sobriety after public statements that recall Boris Yeltsin at his thirstiest.

And on the current ITV1 hit, I'm A Celebrity - Get Me Out Of Here!, bizarre scenes were played out nightly live on television between two delicate celebrities who have in the past been treated for drug abuse: Tara Palmer-Tomkinson and Darren Day. In the Australian jungle which is the setting for the incarceration game show, both several times seemed in danger of mental distress or even collapse. You had to wonder if this was a suitable format for people of proven psychological insecurity.

Keane, although admitting in his memoirs to having once been very good news for those holding shares in breweries, denies that he is an alcoholic, although such a judgment is often better made from the other side of the bar. Whatever category he falls into now, he insists that he is no longer drinking.

If so, an amateur psychological reading of recent events would run as follows. For much of his career, drink was Keane's release from stress and anger, while outings to pubs and bars were the glue that bonded him with team-mates and friends. Once he stopped drinking, match and post-match resentments accumulated inside him, eventually emerging in increasingly ruinous tackles, unwise interviews and self-destructive memoirs.

One of the biggest changes in Keane in the last year has been his sense of isolation within first the Ireland and then the Manchester United squads. He has publicly criticised colleagues in both teams, setting himself apart, until he seemed connected only by shirt colour. But the self-cured addict is a loner, cutting himself off from the companionship that held the temptation.

The literature of addiction is full of examples of people sweating it out alone in cold turkey weekends in their flats. It's for precisely this reason that successful addiction counselling depends so much on group support and meetings, replacing the drunken society with one rooted in sobriety. Admitting your weakness to others - and accepting their help - is a vital part of the process. One possible interpretation of Keane's behaviour is that he is attempting to do it on his own.

In the jargon of Alcoholics Anonymous, such a case is called a "white-knuckle drunk": someone who is remaining clean through sheer willpower. The actor Martin Sheen, weaned off substance abuse through organised 12-step programmes, has categorised President Bush as such a case. Dubya, although refusing to submit to the definition of alcoholic, has admitted to a beer and bourbon habit up until middle age which resulted in unpleasant behaviour and clanging hangovers. But he made it a campaign pledge that he would toast a White House victory only in mineral water.

The still mysterious incident in which he gashed his face while choking on a pretzel encouraged rumours that he was personally increasing liquor tax revenue again, and this week, after a press conference on his Iraq war strategy which was muddled even by his established standards, people have again been peering inside the presidential wagon to check that Dubya is still on it.

With his talk about how we need to sort out the bad-guy who has "crawfished" and "stiffed the world", he certainly sounded like someone who has had a few too many, setting the world to rights over Texan beef-jerky and beer. If, as his aides insist, he remains dry, then it must be the case that his mind retains a rhetorical memory of what it sounds like to be pissed.

As after the pretzel emergency, my feeling remains that it would be impossible, given the leakiness of modern politics, to conceal a lapsed alcoholic in the White House. But, with a president contemplating pre-emptive war in the world's least stable region, it's fair that there should be scrutiny and scepticism. A self-cured drinker at the highest level of politics must be regarded as a big risk.

Most addiction cures consist of replacing the damaging appetite with a more constructive obsession. Many ex-drinkers consume huge quantities of tea. Anthony Hopkins, since becoming a reformed alcoholic, makes movies at an almost maniacal rate. George Bush has filled what was once boozing time with prayer and exercise.

Those are all plausible strategies. Tara Palmer-Tomkinson and Darren Day have tried something rather more dubious. Putting yourself before public scrutiny in a high-pressure set-up designed to find your weaknesses seems an odd 13th step after the 12 to sobriety.