Oh the happy memories....
... This took place about a week before the election in 1997, when Conservatives were ousted from government after nearly 20 years. I was 17 and still at school. At 17 I was something of a Tequila fan and on a rather bizarre night out in Chiswick I had been drinking pints of lager with Tequila chasers. (I feel slighty nauseous even typing this).

At the bar, who should I spy but Peter Stringfellow, decked out in a white suit, white shirt, white waistcoat, white tie, white shoes (you get the picture), teamed with THE BIGGEST, bluest, Conservative rosette I have ever seen. Something of a teenage socialist, I waltzed up and harangued him loudly in front of a gathering crowd, critisising not only his political persuasion but also the (v young) age of his then girlfriend.

His reaction? To reach into his breast pocket and peel a postcard of himself naked off the enormous pile, sign it, present it to me with a pat on the head and a shot of Tequila. Eeeeuuuuwwwwwww! Cranberry.

Addendum: The evening ended with me losing my friends, falling asleep on a bench, getting lost, reverse charge calling my mother to come and find me, whilst vomiting in the phone box. When I got home we discovered that my car had been stolen and I had to spend the next hour being interviewed by the police. This is still my mother's favourite story for telling new boyfriends. I haven't touched a drop since.

*well, not a drop of Tequila anyway...
( Dekazer, Fri 19 Mar 2004, 13:35, Reply)