YOU know the feeling. Long day. Long night. The landlord shuts the doors.
Maudlin reflections kick in. It's known as 'after hours' drinking.
I knew a bit of it during my London years. My colleagues and I would sink 'gentlemen's measures' of spirits and mixers until way past midnight. The conversation got louder and dafter as time ticked by.
In the morning, with buzzing heads, we tried to recollect exactly what was said, not very successfully.
So here it is - AFTER HOURS, an attempt to recapture what would undoubtedly be memorable nights if only we could remember them. Anyway, cheers.