If you remember, a previous night out with my old work involved me buying (what now turns out to be two bottles of) champagne on my boss's tab, doing karaoke with the pub singer, being sent home before 11pm and then spending three days nursing the hangover.
As a result of that occasion, I very wisely gave up drinking wine.
Last night in a bid to save money (and, of course, appear really classy) I hopped aboard the Plymouth Princess for a booze cruise with my old workmates who had cleverly smuggled some wine and PIMMS onboard.
Earlier in the day I had withdrawn my last £20 as funds for the evening. I then spent so long getting ready that I ended up having to get a taxi down to the waterfront to avoid missing anchors away. That cost £6, and I needed to save £10 for my taxi fare home, so I realised that left me with the grand sum of £4 for the entire night out. Therefore I HAD TO DRINK THE WINE.
Just touching the keyboard to type right now is sending waves of nausea rippling through my body, so I'll keep it brief (every cloud, eh?) but let's just say the following things took place:
Dancing, singing, drinking, declarations of love, driving the boat, saluting every single Navy warship we passed (with a salute my friend from the Army taught me - are they even the same?! Dave check it out!), and excessive photograph taking. I have included just a couple of these photos as evidence, but there were 87 when I looked this morning. Mostly of the same thing. NB my hair was straight when I left the house.
Anyway, shortly after returning to port, myself and Nickers packed ourselves off home, all before midnight.
Still it could be worse, at least I didn't turn up at an armed siege in my dressing gown, carrying a fishing rod and offering to tempt out a man with a sawn-off shotgun propped under his chin using some chicken and a beer. In case you haven't heard, that actually happened. Google "Gazza" and "Moat".
Here I am this morning. Kids, learn from my mistakes - stay off the booze.