Ever had that dream where you are in a public place in your 'jamas' or even naked and you can't hide? A few years ago I was told about this story, by an acquaintence of mine.
'A' had been on a course in Dublin. As is quite common for universities these days to generate income, she was staying in Trinity College student accommodation. Trinity is a lovely Georgian building in the centre of Dublin. It stretches back quite a way, firstly around a quadrangle of Georgian buildings, and then past a cricket pitch and a rugby pitch, along which there is a series of Halls of Residence.
On courses I have been to for both work and 'pleasure', there is a real culture of finding 'new best friends' in the bar. This seems to mean that drinkiing has to go on until the early hours to prove how sociable you can be, and to impress the boss. It almost becomes a competition. By the time I had been on several courses with the Open University, I got to the point where it seemed pointless. They aren't really friends, they aren't really work-mates and actually using the evenings to catch up on the copius amounts of reading required.
'A' had fallen into the drinking buddies circle. After a week of Guinness, late nights, early mornings it was taking its toll. On the last night, after a lengthy drinking session, 'A' retired to bed. Because it was quicker and easier, 'A' stripped off to her birthday suit and got into bed. In the middle of the night she awoke to find that she was standing in the corridor of the Hall of Residence, not knowing how she got there. (this she deduced at a later date, was as a result of choosing the room door rather than the bathroom door, when a call of nature came.)
Naked and locked out of her room, she looked around for something to protect her modesty. She couldn't knock on doors as it was the middle of the night, she didn't know which ones were occupied, and which ones had women in. (Knocking on a man's door naked in the middle of the night would probably be one of most men's fantasy.) There was a small kitchen, but there were blinds, not curtains and not a lot else. Looking round there was a bin, with a black bag in. Hastily she put holes in for arms and head and put it on. It was big enough to cover her modesty, to walk to the Porters Lodge at the front of the building to be let in.
The walk was a long one, past a rugby pitch, cricket pitch and across the quadrangle at the front. The Porter saw the problem and put 'A' in the back room, whilst he radio'ed his colleague to come to the Lodge. The other porter had a van, and took 'A' back to her room.
On the way, the Porter couldn't stop laughing. 'I'm sorry,' he said, 'I'm getting married next week, and I was wondering what to talk about. Looks like you've just given me something.'
'Whisky in the Jar' - Thin Lizzie, a revival of an old Irish folk song, about losing everything.
P.S. for those of you who don't like whisky or whiskey, try Power's - its lighter and sweeter, with a bit of an orange after-taste.