Extract from Chapter 4 – ‘Party Time’
“It didn’t take long to finish the bottle (even though vodka was normally my tipple) and we because we gossiped quite a bit in between gulps of firewater. Damian told me about his latest flame, Randolph, whom he described as “small, sweet and the dearest thing” and I told him about Greg. I might have been a little indiscreet because I vaguely remembered, much later, using words like “lazy” and “thoughtless”. I might even have said “feckless” or something close but it all became a bit of a blur around then so maybe that wasn’t quite right. I do remember, however, that after a while I suggested we go somewhere to eat. I think Damian said it was a bit early for dinner and I said it was after 5 o’clock so we weren’t in working hours any more anyway and we might as well find some food to soak up the whisky. We found an all day pub and ate steak and ale pie with mashed potatoes. It didn’t seem to do much to soak up the whisky, but that might have been complicated by the very good ale in the glasses, which complimented the pie beautifully, and that appeared, next to my elbow, magically, and with pleasing regularity. The rest of the evening was just a series of grainy snapshots in my memory. Later, much later, I remembered walking along the top of someone’s garden wall holding an umbrella and pretending to be a high wire act in a circus.

Damian perched on the roof of a VW Beetle, cross-legged and with his chin on his fist, like a pixie, telling me something about wanting to be in the Brownies instead of the Cubs when he was 7. A very nice policeman asked us, in a serious tone, to be a little quieter or he’d find us a bed for the night. For some reason I found that hysterically funny and couldn’t stop laughing even when the tears streamed down my face and I had a painful attack of hiccups. Which didn’t help much when I rang Greg to explain that I wasn’t coming home that night. I could recall telling him, between hiccups, that I was unfit to drive and I think I managed to do that in reasonable fashion, but then spoiled it by telling him that I’d no idea where I was, couldn’t remember where I’d parked the car anyway and that he wasn’t to worry because Damian was looking after me and would take me home. Then it was morning. I knew it was morning, even though I didn’t open my eyes, because a radio was on somewhere and the lugubrious John Humphries was trying to sound like Mr Niceguy while he pulled some poor politician smuck to pieces with his sarcasm. Then I remembered bits about the night before, and groaned. It must have been me because there was no-one else in the bed. I was stretched out across it diagonally. Naked. “’Morning” said Damian’s voice somewhere close by. Oh Lord!”