Aside from New Year's Eve, tonight is probably one of the worst nights for the hard drinking pub fancier. This is solely due to one factor - the young shaver celebrating exam success. Now, don't go getting the idea that this cove begrudges the budding scholar a celebratory glass of champagne or pint of vodka and orange. Far from it.
Oh yes, i know it is hard to believe that this cultured sophisticate was once an uncouth youth swilling low-rent lager-beer and cider cocktails before trawling the bars and clubs for pie-eyed ladies with self esteem issues. Now, with a more mature eye, i look back on my actions with revulsion and disgust. It's strictly premium lager these days, by jove.
However, i fondly remember my own post A-Level revelry. One of my terrible acquaintances, upon catching sight of our old geography teacher, invoked the cutting wit of Wilde himself, exclaiming - "You're a fuckin' puff you are" before attempting a left hook powerful enough to spark out Mike Tysons himself. As he spun through approximately 420 degrees face-first into a rapidly approaching wall, it became clear why the professional boxer eschews the pre-bout bottle of Campari.
Two other fine gentlemen in my entourage spent the early hours slumbering in a hedge and on the 14th hole of a golf course respectively. One overindulgent chap was taken to hospital to have his stomach pumped. With my cast iron-stomach and hardy constitution i was, naturally, unscathed. I am skill.
Nevertheless, the trouble with youngsters today is that, when it comes to alcohol, they just do not know when to stop.
'Drinking Song' - Akira the Don