When you are young you drink to be sociable, and when you are old you drink to be unsociable.

When you haven’t had a drink for a week or so, you get the urge, feel the excitement in your gut, and your mind goes a little scrambled, you feel happy when you go to buy the booze, you get home, you lock your door behind you and say, yes, this night is mine, mine alone, my adventure, my escape, my unchartered journey, and no one can take it away from me.

The thing about alcohol, though non-drinkers, non-alcoholics and reformed alcoholics may falsely dispute this, is that each day, or night on booze, is a different journey, the destination being a mystery, but quite possibly the final one.

OK booze, let’s make a deal, God will be my witness, I’ll keep you at 4 % and below, and you make me famous.

Happiness is, waking up without a hangover.

Any respectable alcoholic, worth his salt, should wish to wake up dead.