All last week I had been feeling rather unwell. I was urinating like a fountain statute and my stomach would often enjoyed imitating the sound of a distressed heard of cattle, highly unpleasant I must confess. The Friday previously I had been  on what we like to refer to as a 'Bender', starting from about 6pm right through until 8am the following morning, walking home from a girls flat clutching a half empty bottle of Blossom Hill, muttering and cursing at random aspects of ...