Bottles and I.

So now I’ve got four Christmas presents. Three of them are bottles.

It’s all about association, right? People who know Helen always get her birthday cards with dogs on. With me, it’s bottles. ‘What shall we get Jeff for Christmas? I know! A bottle.’ JJ = bottles. I wonder why.

I’m not complaining, you understand.

I was thinking today of the times when I got so drunk I passed into unconsciousness, and yet I never had a hangover. I did get a tongue wagging from the better half once.

‘Do you know you drank nearly a whole bottle of whisky in six hours?!’

‘Did I?’

‘Yes, you did. You could have died from alcohol poisoning, you idiot.’

‘Could I?’

‘Yes, you could.’

‘What’s alcohol poisoning?’

‘Poisoning you get from drinking too much alcohol. It can kill you.’

‘Can it?’

‘Yes, it can.’

‘Oh, right. I didn’t know that.’

I never drank a bottle of scotch in six hours again. I remember the feeling I had just before I began to sweat, shake and fall over – like my stomach was about to rise and run away screaming. I didn’t like that bit. And I also noticed that the process of getting inebriated happens in stages. First there’s the relaxed phase, then the talkative phase, then the silly phase, then the ‘I wonder who all these people are’ phase, and after that you’re just drinking out of habit. Eventually you feel sober again, so you drink some more, trying to start the phases all over again. It doesn’t happen a second time. You just break into a cold sweat, feel sick and then fall over. Not much point, really, so I keep it sensible now.

Honest.