I didn't know how drunk I was until I got outside. Not to worry, I made it home, bouncing my way upstairs to the apartment. Not fit for any debate, I climbed into bed beside my wife and quickly started to snore, but not for long since nature called and I was obliged to get up.

First leaning against the wardrobe door, some words from my wife would help me refocus, heading towards the bathroom. Next followed this scratching and shouting and banging but also complaints about the plumber who'd recently serviced our toilet. Then came relief and all the noise ended. Slowly and quietly, walking backwards, I made my way into bed. My feet were wet.

She knew to get up, tracking wet footprints along the landing to where I'd pissed against the front door. And as for my bitching about the plumber, it seems I'd been trying to flush the door handle.