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Hello. Old friends tell me with a muted note of sympathy that I was never a very interesting

drunk. Well they're probably right. Back in the days when Downing, Six Pineson, a couple of

Whiskey Max was almost a social necessity, I never really, never really joined in the general

jollity. Even as my rollicking mates went into yet another table-banging chorus of you'll never walk alone,

I'd be drifting off to the gents, where with one hand pressed high against the wall

so as to maintain my balance I would indulge in more than thoughts about my

Philistine companions. How very sad I thought that they could only become

properly companionsable and properly enthusiastic when they were in their cups

when they absurdly sought to emulate good old

student camaraderie. Lift your Stein and drink your beer.

Rise, swine, dry, deer.

Lift your Stein and drink your beer.

Drink, drink, drink, drink.

Two eyes are not bright.

As stars when they're shining on me.

Drink, drink.

But of course, all those cheery umpapa Heidelberg students

and the student prints are hardly comparable to contemporary student drinkers who it would seem are now considerably more likely to be found lying insensible and incoherent and probably incontinent on the floor of the student bar than collectively raising

their tankards to lips that are red and sweet as the fruit on the tree.

Drink, drink, let the toast of our on the tree. But, as I now learn, there is a dog.

...