My friend Paul used to run a bar in Islington.
I stumbled in there one Saturday night following an afternoon drinking elsewhere. I was in such a state he thought it would be funny to give me a pint of vodka and Red Bull (ugh). He was right, apparently. I experienced total blackout and woke up at home the next day feeling ghastly – and something was wrong. I didn’t have a poster like that. Oh dear – not my home after all. I had gone back to a mate’s house and belligerently got into his bed fully clothed and refused to leave it, my poor pal had to sleep on his sofa. I had torn the knees out of my jeans and they were glued to my legs with matted blood. I’d sprained a wrist and had shards of glass in the palms of my hands and a massive graze from elbow to shoulder on one arm. And not the faintest idea how I had come by my injuries.

Drunken break dancing – d-d-d-d-don’t do it, kids.
( Monty Boyce, My cheese game is strong, Mon 17 May 2010, 9:26, 1 reply, 16 years ago)

Haha
I somehow knew you'd have a good reply to this one.
( Noeli overtheshoulderboulderholderthingstraplatchboobs, Mon 17 May 2010, 9:30, Reply)

I am nothing if not consistent.

( Monty Boyce, My cheese game is strong, Mon 17 May 2010, 9:31, Reply)