Earlier today I went to the local surgery to have an imperfection checked out. The doctor read through my records, while I looked around her room until my attention was snared by a poster on the wall. The poster warned against excessive drinking, setting out a list of terrible ailments and organ failures certain to happen if you persist with such a lifestyle choice. Twenty-eight teeny units over seven days is advice that might have been proffered by Oliver Cromwell.
The doctor caught me. 'And how many units do you think you've consumed this week?', she asked sweetly.
I thought for a moment. I was in the company of a doctor. What would be the point of not telling the truth?
'Around twenty, I should think.'
The doctor nodded, satisfied.
Good job it was Monday.
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