One Christmas night out
Many moons ago. In a big swish hotel in Edinburgh. Party frocks and best suits and ties were the order of the day.

Gavin the young trainee was learning some harsh lessons from the cruel mistress that is alcohol. He'd been firing it down like there was no tomorrow, and was now starting to look quite ropey.

"Reverend, keep an eye on Gav for a minute while I go for a wee dance with that fit bird from Marketing", says Andy, Gav's boss. Off he tottered into the distance without a care in the world.

Gav was asleep at a table with his head resting in amongst the Christmas cracker debris. He woke up with a start, looked at me and said "Reverend, I'm gonna be sick!"

"Oh shit!"

I picked him up by the collar, wheeched him round and propelled him towards the gents. He was starting to make hideous retching noises as we neared the target, but we were nearly there.

The toilet door was a toilet door like most others. It had an inner door and an outer door. As we got to the outer door Gavin began yet another enormous retch. He barged the door open, just in time to see a gentleman opening the inner door from the other side.

You can see what's coming, can't you?

"BLURGGGGGGGHHHHHH!!" roared Gav.

The poor bugger never stood a chance. Perhaps his one big night out of the year. His big chance to cop off with his secretary. Whatever his plan, it was now lying in a puddle around his feet, over his shoes, up his trousers, and over his jacket.

He was close to tears. I don't blame him.

To my knowledge, Gavin hasn't touched brandy since.
(Reverend Fister "a disciplined fuckwit", Fri 6 Feb 2009, 14:21, Reply)