It's always rewarding when the fruits of one's labours manifest themselves. Witness, if you will, the following dialogue, rendered faithfully by members of, er, well, perhaps it would be prudent not to mention the name of the dorm.

"Sir, how many times have you been drunk?"

"Whatever kind of question is that?" (I forbore from recounting the night after A levels, when my housemaster caught us entering our own dorm via the Prefects' Room window, catching a whiff of what may have knocked him out if he and we had remained in each other's company for many more moments and said, simply and directly, 'Ah, gentlemen, nice to see you in, erm, how shall I put this, 'high - spirits''.)

"Well, I asked my parents the same question, and they said about 500 times."

One of the members of 3H, who had obviously been hanging on my every word in his English lessons recently, said 'Ha! Hyperbole!'

A wit from the other end of the dorm enjoined with 'You mean litotes!' (I have to confess that I did smile at that.)

Well, dear Friends, isn't it reassuring to know that you're getting such value for money? And as for whether it was either, I wouldn't wish to comment. All I know is that a couple of glasses of Sauvignon with Les Ives earlier this evening were very welcome, and that no, I am certainly not.

'Sir, do you mind if I call you Big Dog?'

'Well, er, yes, I'm afraid I do, rather'.

'H'm. Well how about B.D., then?' I thought quickly. I suppose that is synonymous with the degree of Bachelor of Divinity, so that wouldn't be so bad. (A qualification of which I am not possessed, by the way, although the academic hood from Oxford is quite enticing.)

Before I had a chance to express my slight concern about such a sobriquet, my coversationalist was ahead of me, telling me that as Mr Bush was called 'Daddy Bush' by all and sundry (long story), that would be  D.B., so therefore I could happily become B.D. As Anthony Buckeridge, author of the Jennings books, equipped the fiersome Mr Wilkins to opine, 'The logic of the average ten-year-old was invariably impossible to fathom'.

Anyway, whether your post-prandial intake is hyperbolic or litotical (?), I hope you, just like what's in your glass, are appropriately chilled.

Goodnight.