I was Monty's double.

Strolling down the Mall last night I thought I'd pop into my club for a swift snorter before heading home. As I turned towards the building, I noticed a tall, snappily dressed gent with shoulder length dark hair weaving unsteadily out of the building and off down the street.
"Egads!" I thought. "That's Monty! He started early tonight!"
Strolling into the bar I was astonished to see ukmonty propping up the bar and regaling all and sundry with tales of his days on the North West Frontier.
"Good grief, Monty!" I cried. "You must have a double!"
The freeloading sot waved his glass at me in a fug of drunken bonhomie. "Cheersh, old fellow", he said. "Don't mind if I do. Make it Bombay Shapphire."


^{Certain portions of this story - such as any of it - may not be true in actualitie. However the tale, like Monty, is accurate in spirit.}