THE HANGOVER, PART 96

Regrets? I’ve had a few. And the ones I can mention have often involved an over-commitment to strong drink. There was the time when, after several hours of fuelled discussion in places in Edinburgh I can only hazily remember, I got on the train to Glasgow, went to the toilet and woke up, partially deshabille, when the cleaner opened the door with a skeleton key in Cowlairs sidings.

Some people have natural fears, of clowns, mice, spiders, tall buildings, and, while I share them, the absolute doozy for me is flying, which I can’t do without bathing my terror in alcohol. My cheeks still flush remembering getting on a plane in New York and intently studying the somewhat fuzzy safety instructions on the seat in front of me when the cabin lights seemed to dim. I looked round and can only describe the figure looming over me as a pit bing of carbohydrate, the kind of shape sumo wrestlers can only aspire to. From somewhere deep in the folds its voice said, “Sir I think you’re in my seat.” I gave an imperious smile and responded, “I think you’re searching for the plural madam,” which I thought was pretty cute in the circumstances.

I brandished my ticket, she brandished hers and the stand-off only ended when a stewardess, or flight attendant, intervened. After comparing the two she said, “You have the right seat, sir,” I smirked briefly before she added, “but the wrong flight. This one is going to Alaska, not Toronto.” I have no idea how I managed to baffle security (mind you, I’m still waiting for my luggage!) but this was prior to 9/11 and I’m told it’s a lot harder to do nowadays.

Imbibing while on pain medication can also have its complication. After a boozy conference in the centre of a spa town in the north of England, the name of which I’ve conveniently obliterated, I somehow got lost in the park in which the gig was situated. It was dark and it seemed rational to sit down for a bit and consider my bearings. My leg, which I had injured playing football (yes, it was a long time ago) was throbbing despite the chemically-induced masking. At some point I heard footsteps and voices, so I climbed out of the shrubbery to ask for directions. I admit I might have looked a little bedraggled. To say that the young couple froze in terror is a bit of an understatement. Screamed pitifully and clutched each other desperately before their legs reacted and they fled is more accurate. But at least they had pointed the way out.

Of course the worst is when you can’t remember anything about the night before and it has to be pointed out the horrific adventures you got up to, often by someone you can’t recall ever seeing in your life before. But at least there was the hangover to remonstrate with you, even as you shuddered with embarrassment. But not for much longer. Scientists claim that within five years, through some mysterious jiggery-pokery, they’ll be able to meddle with drink so it produces no after-effects and there will be no memory wipes. I may have to go on the wagon.

SEX S’IL VOUS PLAIT, WE’RE FRENCH

`The French have a down to earth approach to sex, as you probably knew. Not romantic exactly, more like utilitarian. Spotted in a supermarket aisle (directly opposite the Brigitte Bardo branded underwear display).

GANGSTER WRAP

Now this is seriously weird. It’s for connoisseurs of the so-bad-it’s-good school of appreciation. Serge Gainsbourg and Brigitte Bardot (again) in 1968 performing Bonnie and Clyde, not the song that became popular, but a strange rap croak and off-key warble, filmed in a make believe barn. Just watch, it’s magnificently awful.

https://www.ina.fr/video/I00017945/serge-gainsbourg-brigitte-bardot-video.html

GETTING TO THE BOTTOM OF IT

We’re not just divided by a common language, as George Bernard Shaw said of the linguistic gulf with the United States, but our toilet habits. In Britain just six per cent of us flush the toilet while sitting on it (I’m amazed anyone does) but across the Pond one in three do. It must be true because I read it in a book which was printed before the birth of fake news. Just why do they sit there while the water boils below? Is is some strange fetish? Or because they won’t have bidets at home because the cheese-eating, surrender monkey French invented them?

I’m not sure of the percentage of women in North Berwick who remain seated but, apparently, there’s a real public toilet crisis, a lack of paper which is forcing ladies to use other means. My informant is Helen Mulgray, who pointed out this disgrace in a withering letter to her local paper. “Would any councillor find it acceptable to find no paper in their council office toilets in Haddington?” she asks. “Are they prepared to wipe their bottoms with their underwear?” Indeed.

FARAGE, ON A MISSION FROM GOD?

Say what you like about the message – I don’t know which part of the Old or New Testament mentions the EU and the Messenger Nigel – but you have to admit he has a fine pair of pins.

BREXIT EXIT

I’ve been away for a few days so I’m trying to catch up with Brexit. Have I got this right? There were four indicative votes on Wednesday – chaos, organised chaos, managed chaos and people’s chaos? Someone we’ve never heard of called Brine resigned from a government job we didn’t know he had to enable him to salt the chaos? Then Treeza said she’d quit to get her rejected deal through or, as the Torygraph put it, fell on her sword (she missed, as Nicola Surgeon quipped). If and when she goes another Tory will become PM, the second in succession voted in by the halt, the lame and the gurning geriatrics who comprise party membership. The new date to march to the door to avoid Euro elections is April 12, which also happens to be the 365th anniversary of the Ordinance of Union where Scotland, after losing badly (there is always historical precedent) became subservient to the Auld Enemy – and remains so, if you’re one of Wee Nick’s posse. The ERG’s Mark Francois vowed he wouldn’t vote for the agreement “if they put a shotgun in my mouth”, and some were tempted to test the boast. On Friday the government put another motion to the house, rather less smelly than the last, and …….actually I’ve switched off series three. Let me know what happens.