Am I not merciful?
I had arrived at Glasgow airport at about 10am on New Years Eve 1997. 36 hourse and no sleep earlier, I had started in Adelaide. My sister picked me up, laughed at my goatee, then took me home.
Having made the journey several times before, I knew not to sleep or jetlag would last days. Hence tea and an introduction to 'Shooting Stars' and 'The Fast Show' on video which did not help my sanity.
Come 8 o'clock I was seeing double with tiredness. Nonetheless off we went to a hogmanay bash. At said party I drank a lot of whisky, perved at the oft revealed suspender adorned thighs of a woman there and finally ended up in a conversation with a rather interesting chap.
Alcohol and sleeplessness turned me into my unpleasant alter-ego of not-listening-but-Ill-tell-you-all-I-know man. The subject - late Roman empire general, Count Belisarius. My knowledge - gleaned from 'Count Belisarius' the book by R. Graves which I had read on the plane. The chap I was talking to had the temerity to contradict my learned opinions on a couple of occasions.
After a while I asked him what he did - University history lecturer, his period - late Roman, his speciality (by this stage I was in full rabbit in headlights mode)- PhD on the effect of the relationship between Justinian and Belisarius on the collapse of the Western Roman Empire or some such. Arse.
And oh, while my face was red and my tongue swollen with shame, he also introduced me to his stocking clad vixen of a wife over whom I had drooled throughout our conversation. Damn.

I had neither length nor girth after that intellectual drubbing.
(I am the infinite monkey!, Thu 14 Oct 2004, 17:53, Reply)