"I don't know"

I'm feeling slightly seedy today, as a result of having had 4 (yes, count 'em, 4!) beers last night with a neighbor of mine. It turns out we have a shared love of music, art, philosophy and a few other things - or, more likely, we were just half-tanked and middle-aged. (No, I'm being too cynical. It turns out we did, in fact, both like a number of very obscure cultural artefacts, and he burned me a CD of Brian Jonestown Massacre songs, and bizarrely enough I'd been telling another friend about BJM earlier that day because she's a big Dandies fan but had never seen DiG.) It reminded me of a time when I actually used to care about music and art very deeply. No, that's a lie, I never cared about art and I remain an absolute philistine when it comes to the visual arts.

Four beers doesn't sound like a lot, but it's the most I've had to drink since August 1998, when the week after my second son was born I went to Cuba. And I had two glasses of red wine on Friday night, which is doubly unusual because I never drink wine, when I had dinner with a charming and attractive young lady (who reads this, so I might say that anyway. But she is. Hello J.)

I didn't do anything silly when I was drunk. No fights with sailors in a bar, no stealing a car and driving to Florida. The best one of those I ever heard was a phone call I had with my friend 'E'. I was at work one day - this was in the mid80s. I picked up the phone, it was E.

Me: "Hello, how are you doing?"
E (sounding a bit awful): "Not so great..."
Me: "Why, what's wrong"
E: "I broke my leg"
Me: "Gee, that's a bummer, how did it happen?"
E: (pause): "Err...I don't know. I just woke up like this"