[The boat race night must have been more raucous than usual, because Bertie has no idea where he is or how he got there when he wakes up. He remembers drinking with his chums, of course, and singing the alma mater near one of the fountains in Piccadilly Circus, but that's about as far as his memory goes back. He's still in his formal evening wear, but he's disheveled.

He blinks his eyes open and only just muffles a groan as a hangover hits him full force. The bars are indication enough of the locality. He pushes himself up a bit, wincing and looks around.]

Lord, but you'd think these police officer chappies would have the decency to pop a fellow onto the bed instead of the floor. Really, not on in the slightest.