You know the score - you're looking for an old email and you come across a gem like this:

"Every now and then, the sheer enormity of my unfortunate situation last night hits me. Argh. Why, why did I vomit on your jacket and not get her phone number?"

Those were the days...

In fact, that was specifically the day when the Roquefort Files:

• got spectacularly blotto
  
• tried to schmooze their way into the affections of a young Norwegian lady
  
• failed rather comprehensively by boaking on Chris' jacket in the middle of a thronging pub