I got onto a BA flight home from Bangkok once and, whilst getting settled, the skipper appeared from the flight deck to say hello; turned out he was an old chum from years ago and saw my name on the manifest. (One wonders what sort of person spends his downtime in Bangkok looking through the manifest, but anyway...) The hosties took it upon themselves to ply me with champagne, and then after the meal, when seats were being coverted into beds, invited me downstairs to the galley for smoking, drinking and chatting whilst the pax upstairs slept.
I drank red wine all the way from Bangkok to Heathrow. By the time we disembarked I was staggering, actually staggering around. The bloke at the valet parking proferred the keys towards me, looked in my face, and took them back again. v had to drive me home
I was ill for three days.