Yes indeed. That was the verdict after my Christmas party last Wednesday 
eve. The evening started casually enough as I decided to 'line my 
stomach' by finishing off a bottle of JD I had sitting around the 
apartment. This, I thought, would be sensible as I have now had plenty of 
years of experience under my belt (ooer!) to know how to deploy the best 
defence strategy for my poor ailing, ageing body against the onslaughts such 
Christmas parties inevitably bring. It was the last sensible thing I did 
all night.
	When I arrived it was still pretty quiet with a couple of grad 
students and some profs clustering around the upstairs room of a bar. I 
bought a couple of beers and then discovered that there was free refills 
of coke (by the glass, not the line). Ah, I thought, an opportunity for 
some savings of Smith-like proportions (sorry, Nick, but it HAS been a 
while. By the way, have you sent my cheque to my parents yet??). So, I 
decided to get someone to run me to the liquor store where I bought a 
375ml (a 'mickey') bottle of JD, planning to buy a coke and then drink 
'free' for the rest of the night. What is it they say about the best 
laid plans...? When I returned I was bought a couple more pints which I 
chased with my JD (no coke). We then started dinner and my boss insisted 
on buying a pitcher with the immortal words: 'That'll keep you quiet!'. 
Oh boy! Was he ever wrong. About 3 of us had finished the pitcher by the 
end of dinner and then I started in on the JD in earnest with coffee (no 
coke). It was about this time that some bright spark thought it would be 
a good idea to do some tequila shots. I hate tequila. After 4 of those 
(each washed down with some coffee laced with JD), well, to be honest, 
it's about this time that things start to get a bit hazy.
	A lot of what I shall now relate comes to you, via me, via a number of 
third parties. I remember flirting outrageously (surprised aren't you, I 
bet?) with several female technicians, stores people, etc. although I 
made a point of avoiding the boss' wife. However, my Feltchy hormone 
control button must have been jammed in the 'on' position as I also 
recall dancing with one of the male technicians (though to be fair I HAD 
promised him a dance previously if he would attend) while his wife 
watched on, no doubt aghast. He later kissed me on the forehead (which is 
now getting more or less to the limits of what I remember for myself). 
There was a minor food fight, and then Satan led me to the bar (which was 
unmanned at that time) where I helped myself to the tequila bottle (I 
hate tequila) which I shared generously with anyone and everyone, 
declaring: 'Tequila! For all my friends!'. I returned the exhausted 
bottle to the bar a little too late as Norm, the barman, was just 
returning. I looked him squarely in the eye (as much as any drunk can) 
and told him he was mistaken in his accusation and that I was merely 
looking for the salt (which was still on the table). He turned nasty and 
threatened to call the cops, which I don't think he would have done 
because he was pocketing cash on the side.
	I returned to my flirtations with one of the stores women and 
apparently had my hand on her knee for some time (I can't verify this 
myself, but just in case, it's lucky her husband wasn't there). Just as 
an interesting aside at this juncture, my kraut 'friend' from a few weeks 
back was downstairs with his woman all through this party. They were 
supposed to be coming originally, but what with the Entente Cordiale (I 
don't know what the German for that is - Kat?) having been broken, well, 
you know... In a touching show of solidarity, the boys offered (asked, 
begged, pleaded?) to go downstairs and kick the shit out of him. I don't 
think they did in the end, but only because no-one has said anything. 
Anyway, back to my flirting... I was delicately poised on the edge of my 
seat while talking with/at this woman when one of the lads whipped the 
chair out from underneath me. I vaguely remember lying on my back at some 
point although I didn't think it was when I was chatting someone up. What 
I definitely don't remember at this point is crying out 'Lick! Lick! 
Lick!', which I'm sure was meant to be a reference to the salt with the 
tequila shots (I think - I'm sure in my pickled state I didn't imagine 
that things between myself and the young lady with whom I was conversing 
had progressed that far). And what I definitely most certainly do not 
remember is one of my lab mates, Gavin, slipping me the tongue while I 
was prone at the behest, apparently, of his very attractive girlfriend, 
no doubt living out one of her secret fantasies at my expense (hmm, that 
bears checking out...). When the guys first told me that the following 
day I thought they were just kidding because there is no way Gavin would 
have done that to me. However, when he eventually turned up he declared 
with some pride that he had indeed kissed me, explaining at that point 
that it was Tara who had suggested giving me a tongue sarnie which he 
went on to describe as 'salty' (viz: the tequila bits above). I have to 
say that the description of my tongue as 'salty' by Gavin was truly 
shocking (and it DOES take a lot to shock me) as I've never had a bird 
describe my tongue as...well, anything really, after a passionate 
interlude, let alone a 6'3" fella who looks like Jesus. Boy. Also, 
apparently, at this time, one of the grad students who isn't really one 
of 'the boys' got a bit jealous and wanted in on the action, although I 
don't know if he was successful. I decided to leave enquiries on that 
matter well alone. After a night like this I'm amazed I didn't wake up 
with a sore bottom! Mind you, they all have access to chloroform, 
anaesthetics, etc. Uh, oh.
	At some point during this merry-making one of the grad students 
(Sean) met my boss in the bogs and and said: 'You need a leash for that 
post-doc of yours'. My boss guffawed heartily and replied: 'Yes. 
Refreshing, isn't it? That's the way to loosen up. Maybe you could take 
some lessons!' Oh ho! So, my boss enjoyed it (I'm SO glad).
	Apparently, at about midnight, something within told me it was 
time to go (understand, there was NO conscious decision-making process 
here - one minute I was in the bar, the next I was on the street having 
miraculously reclaimed both my coat and jumper form opposite ends of the 
room). My bottle of JD was long gone. Steve, another grad student, 
followed me out into the car park and warned me to be careful, would I be 
o.k., etc. And, quite importantly, do my coat up. It was -30 that night 
and I couldn't feel a thing. I must have walked home, but I don't 
remember it at all.
	I woke up the next morning at the normal sort of time and was 
aware that I was still pissed. No problem, I thought, a nice cuppa will 
sort me out. Having walked into two walls and a door-frame in the ten 
feet from my bed to the kettle, I decided that then was not a good time 
to get up. Indeed, I didn't make it into work until about 1pm (which was 
still before Gavin) to be greeted by the tales from the night before and 
a reaffirmation of the title I have been bestowed before in Blighty; 
namely, that of 'the Wildman'.
	And I didn't have a coke all night.

	Merry Christmas.

	Dr. Wild  xxx