greavsie reaches that stage

here comes a time in man’s life when he realises that he is no longer physically equipped to be a suitable vat type container for the storage of alcohol.

Men who reach this point have to make a quick decision:

1) Bloody well carry on regardless and make a complete twat of oneself in the company one is in.
2) Beat a dignified retreat.

There are a few checks and balances of course for choosing option 1, which may then force one into option 2 regardless:

a) Is this the sort of do where making a complete twat of oneself is de rigueur?
b) Is everyone else already down the merry road to oblivion so it won’t show?
c) Will there be any form of regret involved?
d) Will there be a good kicking from the missus at some juncture?
e) Is there a promise to be home/some where else at a certain time?
f) Will one still be able to find one’s way home using various modes of transport that are:
i) Going in the right direction.
ii) Legal.

There will be others of course but seeing as this is not an exhaustive examination of the subject but a Sunday afternoon blog-post, a sort of teaser if you will, then feel free to add any further thoughts etc.

So to all of those I saw on Saturday at the bash; nice to see you and I was quite merrily sauntering down the path of option 1 but had to choose option 2 when I drunkenly tripped up the stairs coming out of the pub toilet.*

*Edited to make sense due to lingering incoherence.