Bad alcohol seems to be the theme of the week.
A fella who comes into the office to see me from time to time - frankly, he's a big drinker - was roaring drunk when I bumped into him in Cheapside the other day.
He was being loud, very loud and I was pretty sure someone was going to call the police.
I didn't want him to get lifted because he's a terrific man and he's had a stupid run-in with the legal system lately.
So I started escorting him through the city centre. It was like pushing a grand piano up the stairs.
He popped into a shop on the way.
A moment later he emerged carrying a two-litre bottle of nasty, cheap cider. It had cost him 73p.
Why did the shopkeeper not say "Sorry sir, you've clearly had enough today. May I suggest you go home and sleep it off."?
Yeah, I know.
Some hope.
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