When Natalie left, giving me a kiss on the cheek and a look of pity before rushing off for an appointment with her personal trainer, I removed your stilettos, covered you with a blanket and wiped the drool from your chin. Later, when you woke up screaming about a pain in your head which you assumed must be a brain hemorrhage, I gently explained that you had simply consumed an excessive amount of alcohol. I then sat by your side, holding your hand and stroking your forehead in a bid to reassure you. Three days later when you had recovered, I firmly reiterated this link between lager and suffering and said I hoped you had learnt your lesson. You looked ashamed, said you wouldn't do it again and then promptly went out and got wasted.