An octogenarian of this column’s acquaintance recently took it aside at a soirée and confided: “My brain isn’t functioning – I woke up on the other side of town.” To which this column obviously retorted with the requisite finger-swirling, bottom-wiggling and singsong falsettoing of the legend, “Waaalk o’ shaaame.”
Said stroll/lumber will occur in any situation in which cavorting individuals are sharing a bed, yet not an abode. At some point, one party or other will have to take the long walk home: pillow-haired, stubbled or stubble-rashed, laceratingly unslept and unwholesomely gamey about the edges.
In an ideal world, one will still be drunk, sobering up once returned to barracks. Alas, it is more probable that one will be staggering through violent extremes, inappropriately under or overdressed, having ripped some vital part of one’s ensemble, thus exposing nipple and/or posterior. Traditionally, this is the moment one will stumble across one’s employer.
Lone rangers who wish to encourage such visitations are honour bound to make provision. Basics for both genders include: toothbrush, deodorant, shampoo, shower wash of exorcism proportions. For women add: hair tie, make-up remover, moisturiser, conditioner. For men: a razor, shaving unguent, magnifying mirror and comb. These conveniences should be readily to hand so that – should you no longer be on speakers – guests can supply themselves. Failing such courtesies, never, but never, venture out without sunglasses.