The drinkers on Mad Men are novice boozers compared to the professional alcoholics I worked with at Ogilvy and Mather, Sydney during the early 80's. In fact I've long suspected the reason I was offered a transfer from Sydney to New York is that I was the only one left standing after lunch. Getting wasted at lunch was de rigeur in 1981 Sydney -- extra de riguer on Fridays. I recall a particular lengthy session at the local Italian joint, Bepe's, with fellow creatives Jenny and Christine. Those girls drank. After a bottle of wine and a pack of Camel lights each, they moved onto a few rounds of flaming sambucca - a lethal concoction that sears kidneys and singes eyebrows. As we wobbled, tottered, swayed and guffawed our way back to the office, Christine suddenly stumbled and fell. I reached out to help her, and instead managed to pull her sweater over her head, thereby exposing her breasts for all North Sydney to see. Good hearted drunken lass that she was, Christine laughed even harder, pulled her shoes off and wobbled barefoot and topless back to the office. Now, that's what I call drinking at lunch.