mind the lamp post

I could see that he had had a little too much to drink. The way the tips of his shoes hesitantly fumbled with the edge of the kerb. The way his head rolled softly as though some joint had gone loose. The way the expression in his eyes was more a wild gaze than a display of clear-sightedness. Our paths met at a small crossroads. He looked round to see what it was that was heading his way in a long red coat. And he must have liked it because he turned his head a second time to have a better look and promptly walked into the lamp post which - he could have sworn - was not there moments before.