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2004-02-05 - 4:29 p.m.

Last night I enjoyed the very particular pleasure of having a good friend turned sworn enemy sit me down and give me a half-hour potted history of every way I�ve fucked up over the last 13 years.

Way to boost that ego! There�s nothing like hearing edited highlights of all your moral transgressions shot at you machine gun style (�And THEN there was that time when you��) - it was like being repeatedly slapped across the face with gloves fashioned from the handkerchiefs that your actions have made people cry into.

I let him get it out of his system, muttering the disclaimer that �I was DRUNK� with such regularity that I at one point considered just writing it on a napkin and holding it up at the appropriate moments. (I figure if you�re going to tell me off for stuff I did when I was drunk, then do it the morning after � that�s fair enough, I can take a slap on the wrists � but not A DECADE afterwards.)

The tirade coincided with the end of our pints, and as he wound it up, I thought, OK, now we�ll get another in and I can present the case for the defence � permission to approach the bar your honour. In every sense. But no, matey-boy had said his piece and was making his excuses, leaving me stumbling over my floor-situated jaw as to what had just happened. OK, we�d gone our separate ways on bad terms, but I envisaged the evening to be a bridge-building session with apologies on both parts, not the verbal equivalent of invasive surgery.

Anyway, I was left feeling about three notches under Hitler in the worthiest human being contest � who knew I�d been quite so prolific a complete shit at college? I should have re-channelled my energies and got better grades.

I am composing my withering rejoinder, to be sent by e-mail, or by exploding paper bag full of dog poo, but at the moment it�s mostly just lots of swearing, and I want to retain at least the appearance of an air of superiority. If only I hadn�t been so drunk all those times, I could remember some of the stuff that HE did...

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