- The one where one opens one’s eyes in the morning, in a wary state of investigation. It wasn’t an insane night: you were in bed before 1am, and you didn’t do anything unwise involving shots. As you sit up, the headache begins to massage your temples, but lightly: like an otter on a bank. A couple of glasses of Ribena, two Nurofen and a banana, and you’ll be right as rain.
- The one when the headache is what wakes you up – often in the middle of the night, and sends you trotting off to look for pain relief. Often complemented by an opportunity to stare with loathing at your pouchy-eyed reflection in the bathroom mirror at 3am, wondering if throwing up would make you feel better, or MUCH worse. Sleep is the only cure for this one: about nineteen hours of it.
- The one were you feel like you have been attacked by a hooligan with a baseball bat, and then coerced into a bath full of ice.
This is the one that Wife and I experienced yesterday, in the wake of Woman Whom We Didn’t Know That Well Before We Went On Holiday With Her’s fortieth birthday party celebration: a brilliant occasion, where (sadly) the Champagne didn’t dry up all evening.
I’m a tit when there’s free Champagne: I simply cannot say no – and then I get over-excited and start smoking as well – so Wife and I arrived at eight and neither one of us once managed the phrase “No, I’m alright for the moment, thank you”. Wife added to her misery by wearing a pair of stupidly painful shoes and dancing (I, as I have mentioned before, adhere to my father’s admirable “No dancing after 35 or six foot: whichever comes first.” rule – as it seemed did all the men present).
Anyway, a little after midnight, I decided to go off and relieve the babysitter, and set off on foot. Half an hour later, I arrived at home, having been apparently blown home on a very cold gust of wind. So it was that when I awoke, I had all the trappings of a hangover AND an aching back, which has since blossomed into a persistent and sharp ache. Wife and I barely moved all day and watched shit TV and had a picnic in the sitting room. I still feel as though someone is bell-ringing inside my head, and have thus gone in for my standard “I’m never drinking again” refrain.
