Christopher Hitchens has died from cancer. All there is to say about his life, Hitchens has already said himself. His facility at expression was such that it is presumptuous to try and add to his account. Nevertheless, he would probably appreciate being remembered by those who knew him; and I did slightly. Even the most modest of people like to think the world has shifted, even ever so slightly, because they lived, spoke and wrote.
And Hitchens lived, and spoke and wrote.
We might quarrel about the extent to which he or anyone has made a difference. But in one matter we are agreed; and he will surely pass over any differences if I raise a glass in his memory. As he explained to an Arab waiter once in Beirut about the virtues of whiskey, “all you have to do is pour it. My problem is to drink it.” Perhaps he was talking about life as much as Johnny Walker. So for those who are so inclined, please raise a glass of whatever you please, and down one for Christopher Hitchens.
Well alright, Christopher. One is not enough. Maybe two is better.
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