The Pompey Beerex, held every August at its regular venue of the Portsmouth Guildhall, is notorious amongst my group of friends for an opportunity to really let their hair down. This we always do in style, and there are nearly always considerable beer drinking casualties, myself included. One particular year, after a very merry session I successfully managed to negotiate my way on to the last train home. After that, everything was a blank. I woke up the following morning with my head pounding, and no recollection of how I'd got home. As I staggered downstairs to locate some urgently needed painkillers, I tripped over a trail of my clothes leading to my socks at the front door. Picking them up as I went, I realized to my horror that my shoes were missing. I searched the house high and low, but no sign of them could I find. Scratching my head in disbelief ( I could not believe that I'd journeyed all the way home with no shoes on my feet) I proceeded to make a very strong coffee whilst I gathered the threaded remnants of any memory cells left from the previous nights shenanigans. Opening my front door to get the daily milk, to my stunned surprise I found my 2 shoes sitting outside on the doormat. Firmly planted in each shoe was a pint of semi-skimmed. The things I do to entertain the tradesmen. My only explanation was that I must have been in one hell of a hurry to get to bed!!! I avoided my Milkman for months after that incident.