Pride comes before a sprawl

I went out on Friday for my usual binge drinking. I decided to leave fairly early and was walking back to Liverpool Street feeling very pleased with myself as not only was I pretty damn sober (at least compared to my usual Friday night state), I also had enough time before the last tube to spend a 20 pee wee at the station. So, I’m ambling along with my smug* face on, casting disapproving looks at all the people falling out of pubs and weaving along the pavement, when what happens? I think you may be able to guess. That’s it—I trip over absolutely nothing, stagger for a bit, arms pin wheeling, before coming to a stop on my hands and knees on the pavement. As I have done this outside a very smart office building, the cleaner and security guard very kindly come rushing out to pick me up, check I’m alright and dust me off. And what do I do? Continually shout “I’m not drunk” in their faces until they back away in terror. Then I limp back to Liverpool Street. Serves me right for being a smug b*stard.

*Some people might say that “not being drunk” is not a valid reason for smugness. However, I'm not friends with those types of people so don't care.