Your eyes open and the umpa band start off testing their foot pumps on the big drum in your head. Movement, yeah, let's try getting up. The once rhythmical beat now steps it up to number 11, brain is now thumping and screaming at the inside of the skull, it would seem your brain wants out.
Trying to manoeuvre feet to floor becomes a logistical exercise that, if it were possible, you would ring someone to explain how to do this without the contents of your stomach becoming a little too present on the bedroom floor.
Trying to manoeuvre feet to floor becomes a logistical exercise that, if it were possible, you would ring someone to explain how to do this without the contents of your stomach becoming a little too present on the bedroom floor.
The laughter and vibrant souls of last night's party now lay in snoring multi-coloured heaps around your once pristine little flat. If you hadn't known of the party you would think your friends had all been tragically afflicted by a voodoo spell leaving in its wake a snorting, grumbling pile of zombies.
One detached sentence will always manage to get its way through, eventually, to your cerebral cortex:
"food . . need food".
Like any hung over person, you can look in all cupboards in the kitchen but there is never any food, just stuff in tins and packets and those things that were appealing yesterday called vegetables, that hold nothing for you today. Only one thing for it. Go to the body littered front room and implant the suggestion:
"I don't suppose anyone's packing bacon?"
Heads lift, painful eyelids scratch their way open and, as a union of voices repeat the phrase:
"OHHHHHH, BACON"
Now it is down to survival of the wiliest, for, if you suggest you "don't have a hang over at all" this will mean you are INSTANTLY going to the butty shop. As owner of the flat and maker of the party you of course have immunity (and hopefully some poor sod's new girlfriend will be trying to impress, boom, that's the tidying sorted).
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| Instant Cure for Hangovers |
This is a fact about hangovers, they crave for you to elicit more mayhem on your body. Not already content with eradicating part of your brain, they then go on to try and make you eat and drink as much meat, bread, biscuits, ice cream, chocolate, popcorn, coke, lemonade, tea, more tea, more biscuits and leaving you for the unfathomable reason feeling slightly better. Oh and there is always one hardened, addled idiot who suggests hair of the dog. Just ignore anything these people babble, they know not what they say.
Sis-Science (it's like bro science but made by girls) Fact:
Only with a hangover can you eat your body weight in bacon butties, burger, chips and club biscuits and feel well!
Then, just when your morning seems to be getting better, it happens, that dreadful body curdling thing. The thing that has waves of fear clutching your body from throat to gut. A fragment of memory floats down to you like an earth bound shame filled snowflake. You reach out in vain hope to a good friend and say "I didn't . . . did I?" The next few seconds have you waiting in panik akin to a teenager opening the exams results letter after doing no revision. You know what's going to be said, but you just don't want to hear it out loud. There can only be 2 scenarios to the reply you receive: (1) this will never again be ok [insert what you did, or in some cases, wish you hadn't inserted what you did] you have lost a friend for life (2) everyone else was drunk too so it didn't matter. Hey ho, here's to it being the latter!
There seems to be a world wide time schedule for the hang over. Obviously starting the moment you get up and by 6 pm you are ready for . . . well normally bed again, but at least you are no longer a hangover zombie!
The moral of this story is:
Try and learn by your mistakes.
If not . . always drink with complete strangers in far away lands!
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