Nothing reveals your inner nature, to yourself and those lucky enough to be around you, like a good booze-up. Drink by drink, alcohol strips away all those carefully applied layers of deceit. It knocks loose the gaudy ornaments of pretension and affectation, finally laying bare what hides beneath.

I’m going to say it flat out: anyone who’s never been drunk doesn’t know a damn thing about themselves. All they know is the conscious voice in their head, and that voice is an expert liar. It’s only when that preacher is shoved off the podium—so the that the rest of the congregation can speak—that you become aware of the true dogma of the self.

Drunks have a very fine understanding of their true selves. They are keenly aware of every dimension of their psyche—they’ve sung with their angels and raged with their devils. They’ve examined that inner face from so many different angles they can render an accurate sculpture from memory, flaws and all.