There are some questions for which my brain has been pre-programmed with a ‘yes’ response. These questions include, but are not exclusive to: ‘Large?’, ‘Same again?’ and ‘Ah you’ll have one more!?’ The latter being more of a statement than a question of course.
The afternoon after (I didn’t see much of the morning), the clichés are flowing forth at a rate of knots. ‘Never again…’ ‘It seemed like such a good idea at the time…’ and, my personal favourite, ‘that last drink was served in a wet glass…’ (© my father)
Given the conditions I’ve found myself in over the years, you’d think I’d have learned to exercise some restraint by now, but no, once the first drink goes down that special brand of alcohol amnesia kicks in, along with the ‘yes’ reflex.
So there’s nothing else for it but to place a cold facecloth on my forehead, cram my face with comfort food (potatoes, naturally) and settle in to ride out shuddering waves of ‘the fear’. While I’m at it, I may as well place a cherry at the bottom of my spiral with a great big dollop of blasphemy…
All fiends who art the hangover,
cursed be your name.
Thy sickness come,
thy suffering be done,
on the couch, if we can make it from the bedroom.
You give us this day a pain in our heads,
and highlight our drunken trespasses,
as we blame those who piled us with drink.
Next time, lead us not into temptation,
and deliver us from the evils of booze.