Lone Birthday Boy Dancing

Yesterday for my birthday, I started off with a bottle of wine... I took the train into town... I had half a bitter at the Cafe de Piaf in Waterloo... I went to work for a couple of hours or so; I had a pint after work; I went for an audition; after the audition, I had another pint and a half; I had another half, before meeting my mates, for my b'day celebrations; we had a pint together; we went into the night club, where we had champagne (I had three glasses); I had a further glass of vino, by which time, I was so gone that I drew an audience of about thirty by performing a solo dancing spot in the middle of the disco floor... We all piled off to the pub after that, where I had another drink (I can't remember what it was)... I then made my way home, took the bus from Surbiton, but ended up in the wilds of Surrey; I took another bus home, and watched some telly, and had something to eat before crashing out... I really, really enjoyed the eve, but today, I've been walking around like a zomb; I've had only one drink today, an early morning restorative effort; I spent the day working, then I went to a bookshop, where, like a monk, I go for a day's drying out session... Drying out is really awful; you jump at every shadow; you feel dizzy, you notice everything; very often, I don't follow through. (There's a twilight mood to "Lone Birthday Boy Dancing" - almost certainly drafted in diary form on 8 October 1992, or perhaps a year earlier - with the birthday boy performing his Dionysian solo dance in defiance of the wholesale ruin of mind, body and soul he's so obviously invoking.)