It's a serious question. The last time I represented my country by splashing down for Britain was the 31st December 1995. After a long night spent in the Hacienda, I ended up back at my flat, with a lady who, for reasons known only to herself, had taken a shine to my 'rough diamond' charm. After, or possibly during a hamfisted attempt at sex, I fell asleep in the bollocky bufters in the double bed. A couple of hours later I was woken by my companion. I'd been having a lovely dream about standing on top of a yellow waterfall. She was screaming "YOUR WEEING," and sure enough, she was right. I was lying on my back, sending a huge horsepiss towards the ceiling. My bladder was like Cool Hand Lukes after the hard-boiled-eggs and I couldn't stop. The fact that I had a semi-on was aiding the trajectory of the wazz and it was going up a good five feet before arcing back down and splashing on to the mattress with a sound like someone vomming on a tiled floor. My slash was that long, that she had time to get dressed and leave, muttering the whole time about us all being "the fcuking same." As soon as I was finished I got my noggin back down and slept it off. I had to use 15 chapsticks on my legs the next day. That was the last time. It's a disgrace really. From 1985 to 1995 I could be guaranteed to turn my mattress into the Turin Shroud at the drop of a hat, but then it all stopped. Gone are those lovely mornings when i'd wake up in a pool of my own rusty watter and wonder that if I lay there for long enough my body heat might dry it out. It's nearly ten years now. I may celebrate by drinking a Jerrycan of Breaker and lying in my scratcher with taps running in the bathroom and all four of my limbs in buckets of water.