Handing back the clementine tart to my dinner party hostess, I tell her I want a bigger slice. Hardly polite behaviour, especially as I’ve just told her that when we first met, I thought she was a b***h. But after six glasses of wine, I don’t care.
Alcohol has freed me from my responsibilities as a friend, mother, daughter and wife so that I’m guffawing at my own wisecracks, impervious to the feelings of others. In my drunken parallel world,