"My boyfriend’s oldest brother’s wedding. One of his mates got plastered, lost control of his bowels and shat himself. In a kilt. Picture the scene – on a dancefloor at a working man’s club in Glasgow, a drunken 40-something standing by himself in an ever-expanding circle of people looking at him in horror whilst an equally expanding puddle of sh#t gathers on the floor. On his calves. On his shoes. Yeah. Yeah."