The other day, I was Facebooking (is that a word?) with Philip, an old mucker from my bean counting years. Actually, he did all the bean counting while I took all the glory. Philip was one of the first to buy a copy of Turkey Street. In fact he bought two. I mentioned in passing that a little drink might help turn the pages. He took me at my word and attempted the first chapter on a Brighton to London train. Apparently, he was too pissed to remember any of it. This got us into conversation about that tipping point – when a night out on the tiles in your best frock turns into no-knickers in the gutter. We came up with the ten degrees of drunkenness and reckon ‘smashed’ is the point of no return.
- Warm
- Glowing
- Merry
- Tipsy
- Sozzled
- Smashed
- Paralytic
- Dribbling
- Comatosed
- Dead
I’ve never been beyond ‘dribbling’ whereas the old pro, Philip, has died many, many times.
