It was the kind of call that sends a rush of terror all the way from your quickly thinning hair to your badly pedicured toenails.
"They are breath testing every driver at the start. If you're even a bit over you can't race. It's a long way to come just to look at some old cars. We need a plan."
My co-driver in the Classic Adelaide Rally, Michael McMichael, was clearly worried.
With the help of our sponsor, a highly qualified medical practitioner, we worked out if we started dinner at 6pm, in the Star of Siam in Gouger Street, and finished on the dot of 8pm, and limited our intake of fellow rally entrant Andrew Hardy's Petaluma sauvignon blanc to the maximum amount you could drink in two hours, we would pass.
Gouger Street on Friday night, the eve of the world-class Adelaide Motorsport Festival, was bigger than the crowning of King Fatty on the eve of Carnival in Rio.
Anyway, fast forward to Victoria Park on Saturday, where the display of men, women, machines and bratwurst put Goodwood and Pebble Beach to shame.
Best of all, the classic racing is non stop, you can just about stand next to the track and you can touch all the cars (not the ones going around the track). And Bodri's bake their kurtosh kalach and langallo on site. Yes readers, there were 14 Ferrari road cars on the track, six F1s, three McLarens and more Porsches than Coopers in a Regency Park cafe.