I’ve always tried to drink moderation, but it’s been a struggle over the years – especially early on when I was a trainee tippler.

“Moderation” is a word with quite a lot of elasticity around it: open to interpretation, as they say.

One man’s moderation might be another’s state of unconsciousness.

I recall an early journalistic assignment: a home-brew event in a community hall attended by dignitaries and large numbers of the local populace.

I can’t remember precise details – for reasons which are about to become crystal clear.

Everything had been going so well as I quaffed jugs of frothing ale, skipping over piffling details about alcohol content.

Things soon became a bit fuzzy.

I awoke some time later on a river bank about quarter of a mile from the event.

A scary moment because I was lying yards from something else, which was frothing and foaming – the river speeding past me.

I must have staggered out into the darkness and weaved about for a while like a drunken ant.

A salutary lesson, of course.

I still like a lager – and red wine, gin and tonic and an occasional prosecco, but not always in one night.

I also love football, so what better than combining these pleasures with the joys (and sorrows) of........

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