No exactly off the floor but it reminds me after the Charity Shield in 1984, a gang of us stayed down and hit the town.
There were 5 of us and we were staying at one of the lads' place.
He shared a house with this guy who was his landlord who met up with us in a pub after the game for a session.
Many beverages were consumed. For us, it was just another post-match celebration. For the "landlord" it was for want of a better word, a challenge.
I can't remember his name, let's call him Softie
As with most sessions like this, we opted for a late night curry to soak up the ale.
So, we sat down, got our poppadoms and ordered our main meals.
The main meals had just been put down on the table when one of the boys looked at Softie and said "You look a bit peaky." and pointed at him.
Well, it was as if he pressed a button, a button that turned Softie into a human projectile vomit machine.
Several pints of ale and a few chasers that had been ruminating in his gut sprayed out all over the table and covered the dishes closest to him in a noxious lava.
I was sat furthest away and was convinced he had missed mine so I started to tuck in whilst the others were doing their nut, but not so badly as to lose our place to stay the night.
As I was chowing down, believing he'd missed mine, someone pointed out that if my shirt was splashed with his emanation then my Chicken Madras was bound to have been hit.
In my bevvied state, figured that I was Hank Marvin, it was already half eaten and I'd probably swallowed some barf by then anyway, so I decided to finish it off.
But pick food up off a street floor, nah. My own kitchen floor. yeah, no problem.