The perfect night.

Who?: Keith and anyone else.
Where?: BD
When?: still 1984
Keith groaned rolled over, muttered something about crisps and a
Midget, then fell out of bed with a heavy thump.
He heaved his aching body off the floor before his HEAD began to
thump on it's own...
"Owww! What the living smeg did I *drink* last night? I've got, like,
six people's hangovers!"
This was his most-often muttered early morning phrase ever, followed
closely by 'Smeg off Monkey breath!' (this was from his childhood,
and yet it still clung on at no.2).
"Oh yeah, I remember, 'Tanglefoot', with the occasional pint
of 'Crippledick'."
He stumbled over to his fridge, pulled out some real milk (made by
actual cows) and gulped down the entire bottle, then began to munch
on a box of kellog's frosties (made with real corn and sugar).
Finally with breakfast over he walked unsteadily over to
his 'emergency' cabinet, filled with all the necessary medicine and
suchlike for every alcohol-induced occasion.
"Lesse, lager 'urgh!', real ale 'don't want to waste that on a
hangover', brandy, gin, aha! Single malt scotch whiskey! Just the
thing to cure six hangovers at once."
And he downed the whole bottle in one go.
Fiver minutes later when things were so much clearer and the world
made perfect sense he wandered off towards Parrot's.
What happened afterwards became a mystery to the entire crew, but
within half an hour of Keith's arrival in the pub all signs of
decrepitude were gone, the bartender was back and serving, the place
was totally clean and every one was having a great time. This became
the universally fabled 'Perfect night', the one time that everybody
in any one pub was totally happy and nothing went wrong at all. This
is partly because everybody had absolutely nothing important to do at
the time...
<tag>
Gavin "single malt" Branson.
P.S. Crippledick and Tanglefoot are actual real ales, they do exist
and they do exactly what they name denotes.