L'il Ol' Wine Drinker Me

"Come away Dave, it's not worth it."

Oops!! Things you shouldn't have done Number 12,345,897.
I done a bad thing, George. I went out yesterday and, for some reason which is still a mystery to me, got totally and utterly banjaxed! I am, as a result, nursing a slight headache while gradually trying to piece together the events of the day, piece by wine-sodden piece.

Ah, now that's a starting point - wine! That was the principal cause of my trip to Idiotsville. Beer I can drink, no problem. I have certificates for it. I once even toyed with the idea of becoming Professor Emeritus of Ale Quaffing at the University of Life. I am, in fact, so good at it that I tend to expect my alcohol to come in a handled, pint glass! There's the rub. Beer tips the alcohol strength scale at about 3 or 4 per cent while wine comes in at about 12.5 per cent. You should, therefore, drink about a quarter as much wine as you would beer. Not me!
I was still a bit perky from Saturday night and made my first mistake by skipping breakfast. Then, when the sun rose over the proverbial yardarm, I took myself out into the garden as it was a fairly nice day and cracked open my first bottle. The next thing I can definitely remember is taking a photograph of a steak and ale pie I had made for dinner and then MMSing it to about 10 friends and relatives!
A half-hour-long chat on my mobile with a friend in Glasgow also seemed like a good idea at the time (no, I DON'T get free weekend minutes) and then I came up with a really blinding wheeze - why not go to the pub AGAIN? My soon-to-be ex-wife and I got through 3 bottles of Chateau Headfuck (at more than £8-a-bottle!!) and.............being totally honest, the next thing I can remember is waking up this morning with a mouth like the bottom of a parrot's cage.

God knows what I did during the evening! I do know that the pie I had made now looks as though someone has ridden over it on a motorbike so I must have had food eventually. There is NO wine left in the house so I must have had a small tincture when I got home as well. I have yet to check on the anti-freeze in the garage - I just pray that it is all as I left it and I didn't swig that as well.
I could, I suppose, start ringing round my friends (ex-friends?) to find out exactly where my performance ranked on the Arseometer but I am just too embarrassed. I should also e-mail my online chums to see if any of them are still talking to me but, again, it would be just too painful.
It could possibly have been worse, now I think about it. I have not found that I am now married to a Filipino prostitute, there is no donkey in my bedroom, my genitals are not painted with blue gloss, the police haven't been round, the house is not ablaze and none of the dogs is in the washing machine. That is a comfort - but only a small one.
When will I ever learn? I am 46, for Christ's sake! I have to somehow get my knickers into gear because I have an important interview tomorrow which I must prepare for. I also have to try to ensure that I do not go in smelling like a used beermat.
Right, I shall get cracking (but not bottles) and, as I attempt to rebuild my life, I shall send wine in pintpots to Grantham.