The fridge is well stocked from top to bottom with beer - shelves packed with cans of Budweiser and Stella.

Vodka in three large bottles sits, carefully labelled, waiting to be administered.

These are the "pours" - alcohol that is going to be served under close supervision to alcoholics at a unique addiction programme in the east end of Glasgow.

The Managed Alcohol Programme, run by Simon Community Scotland, is based on a model first begun in Canada, and sees men with long term and severe addictions given just enough alcohol every day to stop them going into withdrawal without making them drunk.

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It is a residential programme, with 10 beds, and men who are here have multiple complex issues. Often they have used other substances, they have been homeless, they are bedfellows with law enforcement and the criminal justice system.

Two years down the line, Manager Peter McLachlan says the programme is reaping rewards and the charity has aspirations to open a unit that would support women.

Peter describes working in the MAP as his "dream job" and has been delighted by the progress made in the two years since the programme opened.

"The men come here from very chaotic circumstances and it's very calm here, it's a very organised environment. It can take two or three months to adjust and there are definite bumps in the road along the way," he says.

In Canada, where the world's first MAP opened in Ontario, the programme came across an immediate hurdle: it would need - but never be granted - a liquor licence.

A police sergeant came up with a smart solution. The law allowed residents to make beer or wine at home and gather to appreciate it. The MAP was residential and any alcohol would be undoubtedly appreciated.

So the Canadian MAP residents make their own booze. In Glasgow, however, the men shop on Amazon.

This is their home and they are encouraged to shop, cook and take care of themselves and their rooms while also having mental health and addiction support.

Each man has a tailored amount of alcohol given to him each day - some have as many as 10 pours throughout the day, others far fewer.

One of the men is down to one litre of vodka a day, which might seem a lot but is a reduction to a third of his usual habit.

Spirits go down too fast so the men are encouraged on to beer and lager or cider.

For those who insist on spirits, mixers are encouraged.

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The centre is calm and homely. The living room, where sofas point towards a humongous television, is packed with board games while each resident has their own en suite bedroom. Other than the bedrooms, there are no locks - not even on the pour room - except on one cupboard where cleaning fluids and hand sanitiser are stored.

Hand sanitiser can be watered down and drunk in lieu of booze so it's kept locked away.

Peter has seen most things before. He's worked in homelessness in Glasgow for 20 years and has been in all the most notorious homelessness hostels and hotels.

The Bellgrove - now closed - was one of the worst. "Men used to jump out of the windows there quite often," he said.

"They would hallucinate during withdrawal and see things, say that something made them jump."

Sudden withdrawal can be fatal for people with long term alcohol addictions and the side effects are appalling - it is not for everyone.

And so the MAP allows men with the most serious addictions to continue to drink but do it safely.

Being admitted to the MAP is an involved process - it is not for everyone, and it won't work out for everyone who comes to stay.

Blood tests, liver scans and psychological assessments are done to see if the men are physically and mentally strong enough and suited to the programme.

Men often have multiple A&E admissions and hospital stays. If you want to reduce human life to a cost on society, the MAP is estimated to save tens of thousands of pounds in hospital stays and police time.

The harm reduction approach of giving alcohol to alcoholics might be controversial but it's cheaper to the public purse than any attempt at abstinence would be.

It is made clear to the men that the alcohol is their own property and the staff merely manage it; this way trust is built up.

They can help themselves any time they want, but to do so risks losing everything - and there is a lot to lose.

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In the hall is a wish board showing bucket list activities the men have asked for. A trip to Glasgow Science Centre is one. To make home cooked meals is another. A trip to the theatre.

They are encouraged to attend dental and optician appointments - to finally care for themselves after years of neglect.

Joe Mornings grew up in the care system and had a turbulent, difficult experience moving around foster homes in Greater Glasgow; he prefers not to talk about it.

At 18 he got a job with a drinks firm and was given access to free alcohol. It wasn't long before he was drinking every day, had lost his job and lost his home.

"I was binge drinking," the 37-year-old said, "I liked to get a buzz, which made it more dangerous because I was downing all these units of alcohol at once.

"For my liver it must have been like the gladiators fighting in the Colosseum."

He began drinking heavily every day and his key worker eventually suggested the MAP. Joe has been here for 20 months and calls it home.

He would like to leave eventually but has no immediate plans to move on. The stability suits him and he has a good rapport with the staff.

Joe's drinking is not yet under control. He does well most of the time but then has "breaks" where he goes into the community to find more alcohol.

"The breaks happen at anniversaries - my mum's anniversary, my dad's. Their birthdays," he says.

"But then anything. Payday, the football. I know I need to screw the head. I know the effect it has on the other guys if I'm in the hallways drunk. It's hard."

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Joe believes he'll get a handle on his drinking. "I'm going to get to a point where I can," he says. "It's just not today."

John Gillespie, another of the MAP residents, works his hands together when he talks. Making only sporadic eye contact, he tells his story fluidly, as though well practised.

The MAP has "been great" he says, once he managed to get a grip on the rules, which include not drinking outside.

"It's to sort of try and curb any mischief," he says, "And keep you safe within the building to stop chaotic drinking."

Mischief is a nicely understated way of putting it.

While Joe was received into care when he was four and references being moved repeatedly, John is also familiar with instability but his forced transience came in adulthood.

He struggled to settle into the MAP because he thought it would be home for only a couple of weeks.

"I was so used to getting moved on all the time," he says. "I was just waiting on a knock on the door saying I was going to another place.

"I was saying to myself, 'Just be a bit wary, John, don't get too comfortable. But it's turned out amazing."

In Glasgow, hotels are used as homelessness accommodation and John rhymes off a list of previous addresses that contain all the most notorious names.

But, he adds, at least it was better than sleeping on the streets. John slept rough in Glasgow city centre for years.

He tried living at his mother's house, kipping on her sofa, but he was alert to the feeling he was intruding on her space - and distressing her with his substance use.

Eventually John quit the street drugs but turned to drink to fill the gap.

"I thought I was brilliant not doing [drugs] but I had just replaced them with an addiction to alcohol, which was really chaotic.

"My health was spent, my hygiene was gone to pot."

He used to sleep in an alley behind a McDonald's on Glasgow's Sauchiehall Street and staff from a nearby sandwich shop, when they were taking the bins out, would bring him food.

The weekends were the worst.

"I knew everybody on the street. I knew all the circle of people. Do you know when it was at its scariest?

"On a Thursday, Friday and a Saturday because you used to get people coming up spitting on you, f*cking giving you a kick.

"They'd say things like, 'Haven't you got a house to go to?'

"Well, if I had a house to go to, mate, I wouldn't be sleeping in a sleeping bag."

When he wasn't sleeping in the alley he would bed down in the doorway of WH Smith but this presented its own problems.

The entrance way was on a slope so if John rolled over in his sleep he would end up out in the street.

There was a hierarchy among the homeless community and a desire to establish oneself.

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"Everybody gets so belligerently drunk that anything could pop off at any minute so you always have to have an eye open.

"Drugs had never taken me to that place in life," he added, "It was only alcohol that took me to that place in life."

His drug addiction began early. John, from Glasgow's Springburn, started smoking cannabis with his uncle when he was 12. 

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He paid for the weed with petty crime, escalated through various street drugs and by 16 was addicted to heroin.

His mother sent him to south east London to live with an aunt away from the negative associations of Glasgow.

Initially the plan worked but then John started mixing with the wrong people.

"I lived in the centre of Greenwich and it was really, really beautiful, it's a royal borough, and I stayed right along from the Maritime Museum in a very clean, new environment.

"I fell in love with a girl and that lasted for about eight years before I got together with my children's mum."

John has five children: his oldest with a girl in Glasgow when he was a teenager and then four with his long term partner.

His partner worked full time while he "thought I could still be Jack the Lad" and was leaving the children in the care of friends while he went out to score.

The couple split up and John moved to be near family in Leeds. He lasted in West Yorkshire a week before getting in trouble with the police.

It's a complicated story involving a stabbing and ends with John being given bail then absconding, going on the run for two years.

He was finally apprehended in Glasgow and sentenced to eight months in prison where he used the time to get clean.

On release John moved to a residential centre run by a charity and worked in the charity's shops and as a carpenter then had his own flat.

He and his partner reunited and, for a time, life was good. But then the negative peer associations started up again and John returned to drugs.

"That was actually the the start of my downfall," he said. "Even though it took a lot of time to destruct and go back down to rock bottom.

"Lessons not learned from times past. I was back on heroin, selling it, thinking that was a good idea when it wasn't. It's a fool's game."

From finally having a happy and functioning family home, John lost everything - his partner left with the children, he lost his house, his car and he was "in a dark place".

He came back to Glasgow and shortly after that his father died. Then, two years later, his mother died and he was rough sleeping.

A soup kitchen recommended Simon Community Scotland but "I don't think I wanted to admit it to myself that I was living that way of life" so it took time to seek help.

First, he had a hospital stay. "I was in a dark place and I dabbled with too much and collapsed and was close to death," John adds.

He knew he had to quit drugs but replaced the loss with alcohol. It was easier to drink because John said the stigma was all aimed at people who didn't drink.

Simon Community Scotland referred him to the MAP and he has been here for eight months.

He has largely managed to stick with the programme but found Christmas tough. It's a time of year he usually avoids the festivities but it was impossible at the MAP.

John said: "I think it was the first time I felt wanted in a long time and that was actually harder to deal with than having nothing."

He is now stable and knows his mum would be proud if she could see him. "She'd say, 'Keep it up, son. I always knew you would come back to yourself.'"

He looks up as he adds: "I don't think we are born bad. I think circumstances just make us make bad decisions."

John has not spoken to his children in years now but he is determined to build a relationship with them eventually.

"See when I think about how my life has been, the chaos in it?" He pauses here. "But without that I wouldn't have what I've got today, man, my kids.

"If I'd had changed any of that pathway, they wouldn't be here.

"So in a way, I'm glad that it did. But I'm sad that it did as well. If that makes sense, you know?"