I'd had occasional glasses of wine on special occasions while growing up from about 10 onwards (glass of claret at Christmas, flute of champagne on birthdays, that sort of thing), but the first time I got properly drunk was when I was 14. I certainly remember the occasion:
Our house at school used to put on an annual charity concert - comedy skits, song & dance routines, recitations, you know the score... all very silly, all very fun, all for whatever was our chosen charity that year. So you had a bunch of young adolescents, amped up because we'd all be performing on stage later that evening. Needless to say, alcohol appeared. In this case, a large bottle of Pimms, drunk neat, and me and a couple of friends worked our way through half of it before any of the rest of the guys showed up.
In my already-intoxicated state, I remember thinking it would be a marvellous idea to dip bread into the Pimms, to mitigate the effects of the alcohol. I also remember one of my friends, let's call him Rob - because that was his name - decide that it wasn't affecting him in the slightest and so he downed about a fifth of the bottle to prove it. The rest of us chuckled.
Later that evening we went of stage and did our bit in the concert. Fortunately, my part was short, and merely required me to chew the scenery and generally ham it up, so the alcohol was beneficial. I can't remember a damn thing about the performance, but I'm told it was pretty amusing. I do remember staggering back up to the gallery (where we went to watch the rest of the show after our bits), basically relieved not to have fallen over on stage.
Now, pay attention, because you have to realise the geography of the theatre to understand the next bit of the story.
The stage is at the front, with the parents/guests in rows watching it. The back of the theatre had a gallery upstairs, where the A/V booth was, and the gallery was a series of tiered steps overhanging the rows of seating on the ground floor below.
My rat-arsed friends and I gathered in the gallery, whereupon a bottle of vodka manifested itself. It took only a shot or two of vodka for Rob to go beyond merely wasted, to completely paralytic. From a sitting position, he wobbled, leaned backwards, overbalanced & knocked the back his head against the upper tier of steps. Surprised, he pendulumed back up, moving rapidly through the perpendicular, before leaning forward, vomiting copiously and keeling over unconscious.
Fortunately, the noise from the musical number on stage at the time drowned out the noise.
Unfortunately, the vomit cascaded down the steps, creeping ever closer to the edge of gallery. The gallery, I should point out at this stage, had only open iron railings at the edge, not a solid barrier.
It wasn't long before a *drip* *drip* *drip* began to land downstairs. On guests...
Our housemaster was well annoyed. Most of us managed to make ourselves scarce and evade detection. Poor Rob took most of the heat and spent the rest of the autumn regularly gathering leaves on Sundays as punishment...
That happened in 2000. 
