29th December. Sick Outside The Fishermans.

The annual private function in Broughty Ferry was drawing to a close. I made a bee-line for the swing doors with a growing sense of urgency, politely ignoring any attempts at long-winded farewells from fellow drinkers. Once outside on the pavement the dizzieness heralded an out-of-stomach experience, such as is seen all over Britain amongst binge drinking young people. However any illness was quickly washed away by the rain or carried on the gale which had sprung up from the river.

The doors swung open and Isabelle came out of the bar walking towards me then quickly assessing the situation, "Eeeyuch! I've walked in your vomit."