More literature about drinking

Never despise a drink because it is easy to make and/or uses commercial mixes. Unquestioning devotion to authenticity is, in any department of life, a mark of the naive – or worse.

― Kingsley Amis, Every Day Drinking

I’ll pour you the first one and after that, if you don’t have one, it’s your own f****** fault. You know where it is.

― Kingsley Amis, Every Day Drinking

I have a hang-over bad enough to think I’m sprouting antlers.

― Kingsley Amis

Dixon was alive again. Consciousness was upon him before he could get out of the way; not for him the slow, gracious wandering from the halls of sleep, but a summary, forcible ejection. He lay sprawled, too wicked to move, spewed up like a broken spider-crab on the tarry shingle of the morning. The light did him harm, but not as much as looking at things did; he resolved, having done it once, never to move his eyeballs again. A dusty thudding in his head made the scene before him beat like a pulse. His mouth had been used as a latrine by some small creature of the night, and then as its mausoleum. During the night, too, he’d somehow been on a cross-country run and then been expertly beaten up by secret police. He felt bad.

― Kingsley Amis, Lucky Jim