Ummm ...

Ahhh, summer, the clink of glasses, the soft throb of Rod Stewart on the stereo, a lingering glance here, another drink there, inhibitions run wild, tonight's the night! ... and ... and ... what was your name again?

You may have been there - probably sans the Rod Stewart - a few too many sherbets, an anticipatory cab ride home, then you tumble into bed with a stranger to perform the most intimate of acts.

When the birds screech you awake the next morning the two of you part, never to meet again, until a chance encounter at a pub, a party, the park and ... what was your name again?

One of the rarely discussed consequences of our nation's love of binge-drinking and casual sex is the embarrassing situation where you forget the name of someone you've ... done homework with.

It can happen to the best of us, including famous film directors such as the unctuous Brett Ratner. He was recently forced out of producing next year's Academy Awards because he used a gay slur after a screening of his new movie Tower Heist, starring Eddie Murphy.

Interestingly, Ratner was not pressured to resign when he said of actress Olivia Munn only five days earlier: "I banged her a few times, but I forgot her ... so when she auditioned for me for a TV show, I forgot her, she got pissed off."

I wonder why? Probably because it never happened. Ratner made it up to look cool, which is a game plenty of tossers play and makes it all the harder for the genuinely forgetful.

I know of an upstanding financier who woke naked in a woman's bed, remembering nothing of the drunken night save her whispering "it's electric" in the dark.

Luckily for him, the woman was also tertiary educated and had a proudly-framed MBA bearing her name on her wall. It didn't explain what "it's electric" meant.

Aaaaanyway, because All Men Are Liars strives to be helpful, I thought we'd plumb the best tips on how to save face if you ever legitimately find yourself in this situation.

Walls: As outlined above, this really only applies the morning after. Fear not if your paramour isn't university educated; hairdressers and TAFE grads get diplomas too. Maybe they just won a trophy for ten-pin bowling? Seek these items out.

Wallet: No luck? OK, wait until your host with no name goes to the bathroom, then pounce on their wallet for a driver's licence or credit card. Too bad if they're married with kids and there are five names on their Medicare card.

Needless to say, if you get caught doing this, you're toast. At best you're a sneaky f---er, at worst you're a thief.

Bills: Failing all this, check the fridge for a power bill - but Lord help you if it's in their flatmate's name and you blurt that out during "seconds".

Skin: Don't discount tattoos. There's a disconcerting trend at the moment of morons getting their surname inked on their body. Then again it could their kid's name. Scratch that. 

Mobile phone detective: Of course, if you see the person months later, you're on your own. Nearly. If you spot them first and gauge a meeting imminent, phone a friend to beg: "Do you remember the name of that chick I rooted after Melbourne Cup last year." Classy.

Forensic questioning: Your last refuge is defaulting to leading inquiries such as "so where you living now?" or "what are doing with yourself" in the hope a suburb or occupation might knock a name loose.

In the end, I suppose this is a good problem to have and could be worse. I know of a marketing type who went for a job interview with a female exec but received a very frosty reception.

"It clicked about three days later," he said. "We'd gotten very drunk at a function and had sex and I'd completely forgotten it even happened. I didn't get the job."

Sam de Brito's latest novel Hello Darkness is in bookstores now. You can follow him on Twitter here.