Last night as I drove home, I listened to an interesting radio show which was discussing the social problems of drinking. An expert stated that 40% of British men entering a pub would proceed to binge drink. Quite a serious issue you might think. The expert then went on to talk about how strong lager was these days, and that a man should not consume more than 21 units a week, barely seven pints of Stella. He then defined binge drinking as consuming four pints in one session.

Well if you’re only allowed to drink seven pints a week, to get any mileage out of them, you’re going to have to have them all in one shot, aren’t you? No point having a pint-a-day. Not worth getting out of bed for. To get any thrills from your weekly quota you’d better inject the quarter bottle of vodka into your heart all at once. Or experiment with auto-asphyxiation while downing six glasses of wine, just to get the hit. Buying a round of drinks would become an extension of christian Christmas charity – better to give than to receive, as no-one would be permitted to return the favour.

I haven’t had a proper drink for weeks. I might even have come in under quota for the entire month, with only one so-called ‘binge’. And this is what happened to me this evening:

  • The street lights of Loughborough went out as I drove past, convincing me that the world was about to end. The traffic lights were all dead too. Perhaps I was some evil being put on earth to cause mayhem at Christmas
  • The car I was driving started making a loud growling noise, and the stop light kept flashing at me all the way home
  • While looking for a torch at home to investigate the noisy car engine, I was absolutely totally convinced that the sewing machine was talking to me. (It turned out to be my phone – the screen had mysteriously gone dead, thus appearing to be turned off)

I think it’s my body’s way of telling me to go out, cycle into Loughborough and binge for all I’m worth. Then I can build and light the traditional Christmas bonfire in a random street on the way home. Then I can enjoy athe traditional Christmas hangover, and give the only presents I’ve got so far – a bottle of gin and a bottle of cointreau.

Happy Hangover to you all.

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