The other day, I was Facebooking (is that a word?) with Philip, an old mucker from my bean counting years. Actually, he did all the bean counting while I took all the glory. Philip was one of the first to buy a copy of Turkey Street. In fact he bought two. I mentioned in passing that a little drink might help turn the pages. He took me at my word and attempted the first chapter on a Brighton to London train. Apparently, he was too pissed to remember any of it. This got us into conversation about that tipping point – when a night out on the tiles in your best frock turns into no-knickers in the gutter. We came up with the ten degrees of drunkenness and reckon ‘smashed’ is the point of no return.
I’ve never been beyond ‘dribbling’ whereas the old pro, Philip, has died many, many times.