If you're anything like me, your tolerance for alcohol has steadily improved since your First Holy Communion party when you were 7. Unfortunately, we have all sorts of crazy laws in this country preventing one from driving to one whiskey bar after another, so I'm forced to sip my J.J.&S in my mother's car-hold. I could always employ another conveyance, like my yacht, but not in Spain:
Yacht owners in Spanish resorts may be breathalysed after police found revellers were sailing home from parties to avoid being caught drink-driving . . . "We have reason to believe that some boat owners are not using their car after drinking but are using their yachts," said Luis Gestoso, the head of Murcia's civil protection body.
Whenever the Coast Guard pulls my canoe over, I just tell them I'm competing in the America's Cup and lost my way. Those drunken Spaniards could try that tactic. Either that, or say you're part of the Spanish Armada. Just tell them you hit a time warp in the seas near the Hebrides – cops are very receptive to explanations involving a cosmic rip in the space-time continuum. Anyway, at least we can party on the waterways in this country. There's always a canal, inlet or fjord around if you look hard enough. -KD