I'm supping in Dick Mack's snug, starting it all off, inviting drunkenness.
I'm eating monkfish and toasting Oliver.
I'm falling a little bit in love with a barefooted chanteuse.
I'm requesting Paddy's Green Shamrock Shore from Fergus O'Flaherty who lives on Grey's Lane.
I'm whirring and stomping and moving on to the whiskey.
I'm handing over my jacket in a deluge, lamenting immediately my chivalry.
I'm applying the shirt to the hand-dryer, naked from the waist up.
I'm being filmed dancing a foxtrot with unsolicited hands on my arse.
I'm waking up, cursing my exit after one spectacular night.