Mon Vieux,

It's dark in here. Very dark.

Heavy claret velvet shields the windows and door. There may be noise without, the world may be coming to an end, but within all is quiet. All quiet. I am writing with a wax crayon as the scratching of my Duofold on parchment would be intolerable in my present state. Occasionally I sip from a crystal decanter of Spring water from the Old Country. Not long now. Soon it'll all be over.

Well a Chap can't complain really. It's been a good innings. One's had one's share of googlies and questionable decisions, but there've also been a good few sixes, and plenty of boundaries. At least one can say one's always tried to play off a straight bat. All right so once in a while one's strayed, but to err is human after all.

My descent into this pit of hell began shortly after the last missive. You may recall my suggesting the intention of drinking my own weight in Champ... no I can't say it. Forgive me. Anyway the agony and the ecstasy that is Christmas kicked off with an intimate gathering in a suite at the Chelsea, you know, the place where Sid Vicious and many others met their makers. Several glasses into my task I found myself talking to a chap from Blighty whose job was something so secret that if I'd understood it he assured me he'd have had to kill me.

Fair enough. He was the spitting image of Graham Greene and lived between Saigon, Washington and an undisclosed location. All well and good thought I until he said something that chilled me to the very marrow of my bones. Something so terrible that I was moved to drain the bottle of C. I was holding and reach shakily for another.

I am sorry to have to lay this before you Old Thing, but in the interests of the truth I must tell you. Those cruel words were -

'My tailor is dying.'

There was absolute silence after he made this proclamation. The will to live seemed to have drained from the room. Perhaps this was what drove Sid to end it all. Was the hotel cursed with the ghosts of departed tailors who when mentioned drove all gathered to question the point of it all? People drifted slowly to the door and left with heads bowed. For all I know they chucked themselves down the stair well in the sheer hopelessness of it all.

I found myself eyeing the window and wondering about the landing options from a sixth floor defenestration. If my time was up then I was at least dressed for it. I tenderly fingered the cosh pocket of my Bethnal Green special. The window seemed to get closer and more inviting as the silence lengthened. I was truly on the point of ending it all when, as though from the very heavens above us, I heard the words.

'Put that bottle down and get your coat you idiot, you're drunk and we're going.'

Like a ministering angel the dulcet tones of the OB&C brought me back to the plot and it was with a once more steely grip that I shook Graham Greene's hand and struggled into the greatcoat.

At the subsequent gathering I began ruminating on the rules of engagement at these kinds of bacchanalian orgies. I present these to you Old Top, in the hope that they may be of use should you venture over here, perhaps to sort through my correspondence when that is all that remains of me. (No sense in my various billets-doux falling into the wrong hands eh?)

Anyway, in short, here is what I have learned in regard to Christmas in the Colonies (and ex-).

1. Accept Every Invitation.
Not forgetting to end your acceptance the words 'I'll ring you nearer the time to confirm. Bye' Click. Perfect. You have a mantelpiece crowded with embossed cards from Smythsons and are not required to attend a single one if you get a better offer.

2. Over Dress.
There can be few pleasures more memorable than wearing the full soup and fish to a party where 'festive black tie' [sic] was indicated. One then finds one's self in a room full of various crimes-sartorial but in the enviable position of being able to wilfully mistake every single other male guest for a waiter or bouncer according to need. Fantastic fun.

3. Over Drink.
Surely an oxymoron? Anyway for the uninformed - drink as much as you possibly can as quickly as you can get it down your neck. This should be done at the very beginning of the party. There are many reasons why this makes sound sense so I'll just mention the obvious ones. i) It's probably free. ii) Being drunk is preferable to not. iii) When pie-eyed you have a licence to behave in your normal fashion, which when sober is somewhat frowned upon, not least by the OB&C. iv) You will have to endure some extremely dull people, these people are best insulted when you are sauced. v) At some point it will run out. I could go on but let's move to another point shall we?

4. Forget Trying to Remember What You Said Last Year.
There are those who attend Yule time orgies and make the lamentable mistake of actually remembering whatever nonsense you may have talked during the previous year's gathering. Unfathomable and frankly unforgivable but nonetheless unavoidable. The only defence is outright denial. Maintain, with such force of conviction that Rumpole of the Bailey would envy you, that they are talking through their hats and must have you confused with someone else. It may work or it may not but if you adhere to point 3 this is academic.

5. Forget trying to Remember Names.
It has become perfectly obvious to me that people change their names regularly simply to confuse a Chap. With one's own chequered past one can hardly assume the moral high ground but it does make identifying previous associations rather difficult. Though when a Chap has unerring radar for the right sort this is easily dealt with. Prodigious use of the terms; Old Thing, Darlin', M'dear &cet. solve this problem nicely.

6. Avoid the Mistletoe.
Yes there will be comely maids waiting in the wings for a Chap to stray under the green leaves, there to be ravaged to within an inch of his life. Trouble is it's rarely the prize fillies and more likely to be the prize heifers. The former would meet with the Fragrant One's disapproval, the latter would meet with one's own. All best avoided. After all, they invented the downstairs loo for that kind of thing didn't they?

7. Find a Muse and Identify Her to the OB&C at Kick-Off.
This is an odd one but I can testify to it's success. Through the fog of revelry find a thoroughly presentable frippet and assume her squiring duties for the evening. Ensure that she is introduced to the Trouble early one and is demonstrably not a candidate for frottage. This has the double benefit of giving the OB&C a break from babysitting one and ensuring one is not accosted by anything more dangerous as delirium sets in. That one's vision is clouded by totty is an added bonus.

8. Stay Till the End and Drink Everything.
This is self explanatory and anyone who shirks this responsibility is no gentleman.

I have lived by these rules these last couple of weeks and I am here to tell the tale. But only just. I have been in my boudoir now since 5.00am on Sunday morning and I expect to leave only when the black drays and carriage draw up for my last trip. Scatter my ashes over St James will you Old Love? Remember me to my boot maker, my shirt maker and my tailor. They have served me well and I shall depart in my finest.

Of course there are pluses to slipping out quietly at this time. Not least that it removes the chance of recrimination for not showing one's face at the outlaws on the big day. Not that one will hear a word against them of course. Not at all. But a Chap is duty bound to make sideways comments. After all we didn't grow up on a diet of Sir Les Dawson and Lords Morcambe and Wise for nowt now did we?

Hark, for I can hear the ringing of bells. 'Tis my maker summoning me for my last fitting. There is a cathedral not a cricket ball's throw from here. A non-denominational one at that. Being a non-denom. Chap myself it is where I would like to be remembered. Well there and my club of course, and if any of my old adversaries should stray in, soggy-carpeted SH members or Daily Mail readers, do tell them from me, I forgive them for their egregious sins. Though they may be black-balled from the club with the pearly gates they may hang around outside for scraps.

Better sign off now effendi. I just heard the front door go so she'll have me up and doing the bloody tree or something within minutes.

Joyeux Noel to you and yours,

S.

Posted by S at 07:41 PM | Permalink

On rare and very special occasions, the chaps rouse themselves from the opium haze and dismiss the houseboy just long enough to question their purpose in life. Surely, they opine in these few lucid moments, two well educated fellows of unlimited means must be able to leave something greater for posterity than broken hearts, despoiled innocents and a faint whiff of warm unguents. But in which field do their exceptional talents lie?

The Chaps have decided that their extensive experience in the area of self pollution may be of use to others at this challenging time of the year and have produced this simple guide to circulate amongst their friends.

The Two Chaps present, for your delight…

A Christmas Guide To Hangovers

First, let us examine the causes of the hangover. Professor Susan Greenfield, in her admirable writings on the human brain, identifies ethanol as a potent neurological toxin. Its effect is to temporarily disable brain functions including inhibition, embarrassment, judgement, balance and most forms of intelligent reasoning. She points out that similar effects may be achieved with narcotics or traumatic impact to the head.

Fearing that Prof. Greenfield lacked the scientific rigour to experiment with all three of these options, we have undertaken to do so and can now prove categorically that alcohol is the only method acceptable in polite company.

There was a day back in 1975 when we didn't wake with hangovers but we both found the experience unnerving and are in no hurry to repeat it.

The pulsing headache, shivering, roiling intestines, dry mouth, prickly eyes, foul breath, diahorrea, bad temper, acid reflux, clogged sinuses, dry skin and lethargy of a really well earned hangover can all be traced to two basic results of alcohol poisoning; dehydration and withdrawal. All hangover cures are based either on treating one of these symptoms or on some element of abstinence.

Ch1. Concerning Cures of Abstinence

These are obviously cheating. Anything that involves pacing oneself, watering it down or sticking to spritzers is likely to get a chap blackballed. On the other hand, a little insider knowledge on the chemistry of various alcohols can enable one to avoid some of the worst symptoms while still getting as fucked up as a stabbed rat. Drinks that cause the worst hangovers seem to be those with the most ‘congeners’. What these actually are is far too complex to be bothered with but suffice it to say there are less of them in lighter coloured drinks. By avoiding whiskies, malts, dark rums etc one can go a long way to alleviating the worst of the morning after. This still leaves gin, tequila and the princely vodka with which to pollute oneself happily.

We're not suggesting that you’re going to ‘spring like a flea’ as Dr Johnson put it, after a liver crippling night of tequila abuse. On the other hand you will feel appreciably better than you would if you’d drunk the same quantity of Navy rum.

It would also serve a chap well to eschew sugary or creamy alcohols. There’s nothing intrinsically wrong with the sugar or cream, it’s just that they usually mask appallingly low-grade alcohol. If you’re going to spend an evening necking Tia Maria, you may as well cut out the middle-man, phone for the ambulance and drink a bottle of surgical spirit with a chaser of Ambrosia tinned custard.

Consider, for once in your life, following your Father’s advice and don’t mix your drinks.

Avoid fizzy drinks after the first glass of champagne and remember that a gentleman starts the evening with a cocktail — he never ends with one. You can start with Martinis and carry on ‘til they wheel you out on a gurney but never follow an evening of mixed, general purpose drinking with a ‘quick Cosmo’ unless you want to wake up three day s later in a gutter in Bangkok with a full beard and ‘Property of USMC’ tattooed around your anus.

It is also worth noting that the most toxic drink of all is the 'Corporate' wine served at office functions. Just looking at the label dyes your tongue purple and starts a headache that will be impossible to shift for up to a month. Our Vintner informs us that such wines are usually bought in bulk and may well be petrochemical by-products. If in doubt take a flask of absinthe or a thermos of well-built martini.

Ch.2: Concerning Cures of Dehydration

The body will use all of its available fluid in the effort to rid itself of alcohol. For most people, after an initial journey to the pub lavatory, liquid excretion can be nigh on constant throughout the night. No matter how hard the kidneys work, this still results in an increasing amount of alcohol and a decreasing amount of water for the body to use. By the time you retire to bed, the mucous membranes, stomach lining and the surface of the brain are all crying out for a bit of moisture. All the body has stored is the toxic remains of the last four slammers. Awfulness can result.

Drinking a large quantity of water before bed is one of the very few ways one can actually do anything to emeliorate a 'bastard behind the eyes'. An Australian of our acquaintance, a chap who knew a thing or two about drinking, swore by a recipe he called the 'Double Whammy'. This involved placing double doses of soluble ibuprofen, vitamin C and anti-acid in the bottom of a pint glass, topping up with cold mineral water and drinking before the foam subsided. Arguably, anyone who could mix something that complicated before bed was not drunk enough to require it but, it has worked for the Chaps on occasions.

Another water cure is attributed, quite surreally, to the fragrant Princess Diana. During her days as a champagne swilling Sloane Ranger, she would prepare, prior to retiring, a bag of orange segments and several mini bottles of mineral water which she placed in the refrigerator. She would then drink a litre of water and retire. When she arose in the night to do whatever passes for micturation amongst the Royals, she would go to the kitchen and consume one slice of orange and one bottle of water. Naturally this meant that she would be up again, an hour or so later and, so on, through the night. She would awake, detoxified, hydrated, brimming with vitamins and glowing with health - at which point, evidently, she'd chuck herself downstairs.

We recently encountered a chap who used a military spec. hydration system during the party season - a 3 litre bag of water slung in a slim neoprene backpack with a drinking tube. An innovative idea but perhaps not quite in the spirit of the thing. It also meant that, as he wore the appliance under his dinner jacket, he began the evening with a mis-shapen and fluid filled hump which, understandably turned women off a little. Though the hump deflated over the course of the evening most women put the effect down to their own 'Cocktail goggles'. As far as we know, his mantlepiece remains empty of invitations this year.

Ch.4: Concerning Cures of Withdrawal

We are told that alcohol is a drug and it is thought that some of the symptoms of a hangover are those of withdrawal. With this thought in mind, there is a whole family of cures based on drinking further alcohol. The Chaps obviously favour these, opining that no-one ever suffered from Delerium Tremens who remained steadfastly and resolutely drunk.

They are in good company. The ancient Spartans believed that wine in which an owl had been drowned was just the ticket. (On the other hand they also thought that cabbage leaves in their sandals and drinking from an amethyst goblet could prevent a fellow from becoming drunk. That theory didn't survive the first symposium.)

Pretty much every serious drinker in history has a favourite suggestion in this area. Jeeves gets the job after slipping Bertram Wooster a 'Bracer'. Kingsley Amis offers a couple of recipes for the 'Corpse Reviver', Hunter S.Thompson and Hemingway inter alia, favoured the Bloody Mary. The Chaps find such behaviour frankly effete and can only be sent skipping gaily through the park with the following recipe…

The Bullshot

Have your man make up a Bloody Mary to your own secret recipe then add at least as much beef bouillon as vodka. As Cook will be happy to inform you, it takes at least 4lbs of beef and a gallon of water to make a cupful of decent bouillon and all that goodness can be ingested in but a few challenging gulps. If trapped in the colonies with only a Fortnum's hamper between oneself and starvation, canned consomme may be substituted.

It is reputed to taste like an entire cow dissolved in battery acid but it hits the spot.

The only way to improve on this would be to use an industrial kitchen blender to liquidize an entire fried breakfast with a bottle of absinthe. We tried it but, to our eternal shame, lacked the moral fibre to actually drink any.

Ch. 5: Concerning the Psychological Hangover

Each of these approaches deals with the physical symptoms of indulgence but, as Sir Kingsley Amis, patron saint of irascible drunks pointed out, this is but half the story. The well documented depressive effects of alcohol allied to a feeling of guilt in all but the most psychologically well balanced of drunks, mean that the morning after is enough to make even the most relentlessly upbeat ready to open their veins.

Anyone can throw down a Bullshot and retire to bed but it takes iron in the soul to get up and go about one's daily business. Though many would recommend detoxing with milk-weed thistle an hour of meditation it is now medically and psychologically proven that only the following regime, in precise order, can help.

 

1. Wake without alarm (sudden shock increases heartrate, moving toxins to brain)

2. Lie about a bit allowing adequate time for collection of thoughts without recrimination or post mortem on previous night's behaviour (delicate emotional equilibrium can be shattered by inappropriate comment at this crucial stage)

3. Administer analgesics (swelling of brain membranes must be brought under control before head can be moved)

4. Long and relaxed shower with light baroque chamber music (stabilises body temperature, removes coating, enables unination without need to aim)

5. Unhurried sexual intercourse (choose position involving minimal movement on part of patient. For best results, actually snooze through parts of it)

6. Large fried breakfast with best available coffee (Lines stomach, provides slow release fuel for recovery plus invigorating burst of caffeine)

7. Newspapers (like chanting, occupy brain without any real effort)

8. Snooze or pub (self explanatory)

If in doubt, try to arrange waking up alongside an incredibly attractive, Cordon Bleu trained, paramedic who's taken a temporary vow of silence.

Above all, never apologise and never feel guilty. It's your hangover, you created it. Wear it with pride and try for a better one next time.