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Dreadful Nonsense

"I've read your blog. it's really funny. you should write a column." - Jon Ronson

Yes, okay, so Ireland lost, it was Keane vs France, why was Given asleep when we needed him the most, blah blah blah – the important thing to focus on about last night was the fact that I DRANK WHISKY. Whisky, as you’ll well know, is saved only for special, specific occasions. These occasions are: Christmas. And: funerals. Drinking whisky outside either of these occasions is confusing to the mind, body and taste buds. Every drop I drank, my brain immediately responded with WHERE’S SANTA? And WHERE’S THE DEAD GUY?

Last night, then, was fun. What I discovered, or rather what came flooding back to me as I downed my third whisky-and-diet-coke was the fact that I can’t get drunk on whisky. Never have been able to. Regardless of the amount chugged down, under whatever circumstances, with or without a mixer, whisky has almost no effect on my sobriety. Which, as you’ll all appreciate, makes it a totally worthless alcoholic drink.

And so my experiment must continue. Taking the advice of Little Sister Edel and Mrs Bishop to heart, tomorrow night I shall be drinking naught but gin and some tonic.

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