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I do know what you mean Tom, I had to tell the magistrate once that it wasn't the 25 pints, it was a dodgy meat pie was my downfall.
Could you rephrase your description a little? The propinquity of the word "drinking" and the phrase "on the rocks" bring back memories of what I call "my bit of bother", though of course I had a different name then, before the surgery, and indeed a diferent sex (and more of it).
Lorelei is just a memory now, though I kept the money.
These recollections come flooding back, when the moon is high and the nights are warm. Even the word "flooding" seems wrong.
Anyone else have thoughts they wish to share over a drink or eight?
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Buvez toujours, mourrez jamais.
Rabelais
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