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Monday, June 14

Another Day, Another Absolute Fucker Of A Hangover

Oh dear God was I hungover on Saturday!!!

I'm talking the single worst hangover that any human being has ever experienced in the history of the world ever, with the possible exception of Van Gogh when he woke up with a splitting headache and one less ear than he'd started the night with. I managed to keep both of mine attached to my head, and all of my teeth too.

Nevertheless, I was in pain. So much pain. The type of pain where it feels like your brain is trying to escape the confines of your cranial cavity in every single direction, since it has somehow swelled overnight and needs more room. This would be the intense ache from the inside of your skull.

Then there is the intense ache from outside of your skull, since there is now a 360 degree vice attached to your head just above your eyeline, squeezing towards the centre in an effort to produce a South Sea shrunken head without going to the trouble of you being dead first.

Then there is the pulsing ache when every single artery, vein and capillary above your neck swells to ten times its original size with every heartbeat. Notably, your skull doesn't change size, and nor does your skin, resulting in even more pressure all around your head.

Finally, there is the intense searing pain above your eyebrows every time you either open your eyes or look in a different direction. This is the worst pain of all. There is no escape, and you sometimes cannot help but have your eyes dart in the direction of some movement, resulting in another sharp burst of agony. This usually coincides with a heartbeat, so that you are already crippled by the extreme swelling of the various blood vessels circulating the vile, alcohol-riddled and oxygen-crippled blood to your battered and abused brain.

Somehow they manage to keep the pain-recognising part of your brain working just fine, but don't provide the areas which govern rational thinking and problem-solving with sufficient oxygen to enable them to realise that paracetamol would be a good solution.

And this would all be before I've even made it out of bed.

I woke up, laid there in pain for a few minutes, and then summoned the strength / stupidity to open my eyes and check the time on my alarm clock. My eyes stayed open for all of about 3 milliseconds before slamming shut, due to the inability to cope with the pain that they provoked.

Eventually I managed to get a good look at my clock, to see the time was 4.30 in the afternoon. Shit! This isn't good. Still this hungover at this time in the afternoon? Bollocks.

I'd been woken up by the general noise in the house, such as the TV and the coming and going in the corridor outside my room. I figured that I'd better get up, so I grabbed my towel, and headed out of my room into the living room to say hello before diving into the shower.

Hold on a minute, the cricket has only just started! Surely it can't be 4.30 in the afternoon? I went back into my room, checked the clock on my phone and discovered that it was only just after 11 in the morning.

This would be why my hangover was so bad. Usually I sleep through until around 1 in the afternoon after I've been to Phase, escaping the worst effects of any hangover. Not today, evidently.

A shower would do me the world of good, I figured, it always blows away any cobwebs.

I spent the entire show leaning on the wall, moaning softly and trying desperately not to be violently sick. The shower was, erm, not having an effect.

Within 3 seconds of stepping out of the shower, I knew that I was about to be sick. I quickly wrapped my towel around me, stumbled to the loo, and threw up the entire contents of my stomach. And then a few internal organs, for good measure.

I fucking hate being sick, it's the worst feeling ever. This was the first time that I'd ever thrown up the morning after too. I've only thrown up due to alcohol a couple of times, and always at the time of drinking. Being sick when sober / hungover is even worse than throwing up whilst drunk, mainly because I'm usually so drunk by that point that I can't remember being sick, save for the evidence of a bit of, erm, splashback on my shoes when I wake up.

Mmmm, memories.

I struggled back upstairs, got dressed and settled down into an armchair in the living room with a big bottle of water. Rehydration, that was the key. I drank nearly a whole litre of water in the space of half-an-hour, and would have quite gladly drunk a hell of a lot more, had I not had to go back downstairs to throw it all up straight away.

It was still quite cold, that was the worst thing.

There was only one thing for it: I had to go back to bed.

Trying to get to sleep was another thing entirely. My stomach was still churning, my head felt like Thor had given himself a day off from creating thunderstorms, and was instead using his hammer on my head, and I was incredibly dehydrated / thirsty. Basically, not a good state of affairs to be in when trying to fall asleep.

But fall asleep I somehow did. I woke up again sometime around 5 (my football-on-TV radar kicked in for the Portugal-Greece game), no longer feeling as queasy, but with Thor still punishing me for some crime I'd committed against the Norse gods. I sat in the living room, in tremendous amounts of pain, hungry and still so very dehydrated.

I managed to hold down some water, which was a good sign, so I took a big step up and put some chips in the oven. This was a risky decision, and could have all ended in tears. Thankfully, I was able to eat them without any bother.

The evening passed by in a daze, with my attention being split between the intense pain on the inside of my skull and the intense pain on the outside of my skull. A couple of housemates went down the pub for a swift beer, but I was in no fit state to go anywhere near any kind of alcohol.

By midnight, I was starting to wake up, although I wasn't feeling any better. A quick bowl of tuna-mayo seemed in order, and once again my stomach was able to keep it where it was supposed to be. I watched a bit of TV (cricket highlights, F1 qualifying, Big Brother), and rolled back into bed sometime around 2.


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