+7/+7

I'm not proud of staying out mega-late last night, sinking beers like a dead Viking in Valhalla, puffing a cigar like I was P. Diddy, playing numbskull poker (I squandered 50 squid) and pool, and doing whatever I did to injure my poor right thumb.

I *am* proud that, while staggering to the bus stop, I managed to help someone who was in a far worse state - viz. a young fella slumped in a shop doorway. He was booze-addled and missing bark on his face and knuckles from a fall or possibly a fight. I got him on his feet and talking sense (sorta kinda), hailed a cab and made sure the driver knew where to take him.

In a weird way, that tiny act (you would've done the same) has assuaged the Catholic guilt that usually accompanies my hangovers. I keep telling myself: If I hadn't gone on a tear, I wouldn't have been able to play Good Samaritan.

So far, it's working :-)