Hangovers get worse the older you get. Fact. And they last longer. Fact. And they are bad. Fact. And I don't subscribe to the view that just because it's self inflicted I shouldn't get any sympathy. Fact.
Now please can I have some sympathy?
My McFriend came to stay this weekend just gone. We enjoyed a two or three hour stint in Primark. Which was a highly successful trip - they have these cusions in there which are very Cath Kidston, but at a fraction of the price and with a matching bed throw. Fiver each for the cushions, fifteen for the throw - you simply cannot go wrong.
Also sorted out during said shopping trip was the final part of my nun friend's birthday present, my outfit for the evening, a top for work and several random accessories.
Anyway - I digress. We ended up in the local nightclub - which was inordinately expensive (I foolishly got the plastic out once the cash was gone. And not just once or twice either. Ugh). But McLittle and I had a great time dancing like lunatics and slowly getting more and more drunk. And more broke.
And slowly setting ourselves up for the mother of all hangovers. And we were not to be disappointed on that front. Having got in at 5 in the morning, clearly we made the only logical decision, by then getting up at 9 and eating biscuits whilst trying to force ourselves to get out of bed to make fried breakfast.
The rest of my sunday was spent feeling sorry for myself on the sofa watching crappy telly and pining for the days when I was 21 and a hangover lasted an hour and didn't leave me in a debilitated state for the rest of the week.
I woke this morning still feeling slightly sick and worse for wear and the crumpets I had for breakfast didn't do anything to improve matters (never mind their total inapropriateness given my attempts at dieting).
I will never drink again. I swear it.
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