The fobs hang limp and undistinguished. The copper medal made from the metal of Nelson’s Victory to mark the first centenary of Trafalgar, the Victorian half sovereign, the family crest, and the silver match box taken from the bloodstained tunic of my 18-year-old Uncle Willie, killed in the Gretna Green troop train disaster on his way to the Western Front in World War One, droop, grimy shadows of their former selves.
“On the dull shore of lazy temperance" as I am, I cannot tell you how difficult it was to copy those words by Lord Rochester.
"Visiting a friend in Helsinki we headed for his outdoor sauna with a group of friends and a bottle of vodka. He poured the vodka over the coals and breathed in the vapors until we were sufficiently inebriated. We then went outside to roll in the snow to “sober up”and headed back in the house to partake of smorgasbord. About an hour later we headed back to the sauna with another bottle of vodka. The rest of the afternoon followed this cycle."