About twenty one years ago I remember fragments of a great Drinking Session that Kentucky and I had at the Fenton. In those days the pubs closed at 11pm, but if you were very lucky you might find yourself in what was known as a “Lock-In”. This is where the landlord closed up the front of the pub and carried on serving for hours past closing time. It wasn’t strictly legal, but boy it felt great when you were lucky enough to be part of one. I have been in very few Lock-Ins but this night I was the reason for the Lock-In … I had just passed my Ph.D. and there were celebrations all round. It was a great evening: I was drinking Lowenbrau, the Clash were playing on the jukebox, Kentucky was in fine witty form, and I had finally finished my Ph.D. Around midnight I start hearing this chant: “Green Death! Green Death! Green Death!”. Everyone was congregating around the bar where Fat Ray (as he was affectionately known) was producing this drink out of all sorts of spirits and mixes he found at the back of the bar. I was laughing until I realized the drink was for me … The drink is not called “Green Death” because it is green, but because that is the color anyone who drinks it goes. Like a good Drinking Man I banged the drink down, promptly rushed to the bathroom, threw-up quickly and easily, washed my face and was back with the boys in no time. It sounds silly, but because of the Green Death, I actually woke up the next morning with almost no hangover whatsoever! Just goes to show you can’t judge a good drink by its name!