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From 'Vomit Town' to 'Hangover City'....a Guided Tour.

There is no truer indication of the aging process, than the good old-fashioned hangover. At any age, the aftermath of a good night out can be brutal, but as you get older, not only do you take a hell of a lot longer to bounce back, but the shame spiral is bigger, because you really should know better.

My birthday came and went last week, without any of the usual hoopla. For many reasons, I just wasn’t feeling it this year. Don’t get me wrong – I was still well-loved and my new bike is a gift I will treasure for many years to come, but there was no big gathering, which for me, really is unusual.

I’m 38 now, which sounds old – very close to the big 4-0! Despite this, I have since discovered, that I am not even a little bit wiser.

I attended a hen’s celebration on the weekend. My first real weekend away without my kids, and all I could see was a big flashing light that said ‘FREEDOM!!!’ A girl’s trip, with endless supplies of sparkling wine, jelly shots and cider. I think there may have been some food on offer, but it never occurred to me to eat any of it.

It all started around 11am, with some Prosecco. I did have the presence of mind to eat a little something at 1pm, but it was nowhere near enough to interrupt the flow of alcohol. I moved onto the cider, never once considering the water I should have been drinking, to level things out…. I never stood a chance.

I’m not really sure why I felt the urge to go so hard so fast, except to say that perhaps I felt I had something to prove. It had been a very long time between drinks and I didn’t want anyone to think I wasn’t up to the task.

How completely ridiculous!

Once the drinking games began, I only had one direction to head in…. rock bottom!

I was talking a good game, basically begging to be challenged to supreme idiocy and I was more than happy to comply. Jelly shots were sucked out of tiny torture devices. Sparkling wine was guzzled, as a variation on Beer Pong decided to ruin my life.

The last thing I remember with any great clarity, was shouting instructions, regarding Play Doh and penis representations….

After that, I spiralled into a haze of vomit and incoherent ramblings. I remember being very aware that I was way too far from home and that I was never going to live this down.

I watched, as a strangely dressed man (a fireman stripper) passed me in a blur. I listened as the shouts and giggles came from the house I was unable to walk towards. I knew I was missing all the fun, but was completely incapable of moving from my shame puddle on the lawn.

People wanted me to drink water.

They wanted me to eat toast.

I knew that I absolutely should!

I did not.

The stripper came and went and my inability to function rolled on. As 10 over-stimulated, drunk women geared up to head out into an unsuspecting world, for dancing and general debauchery, I clung to the ground, certain it was about to be pulled out from underneath me.

My one saving grace came in the form of one of my oldest and dearest friends. I had previously invited her to join us for good times, given that good times would be in direct proximity to where she lives. I was so excited at the prospect of partying with her…. she arrived just in time to hold my hair back.

She stayed by my side as the others headed into Sorrento. She was my clean-up crew – literally! Helping me in and out of a much-needed shower. She guided me through the haze, to the painful reality on the opposite side of Vomit Town – Hangover City.

The best part about crashing out early, is the knowing that your hangover will clear up before everyone else’s. That knowledge didn’t really offer me a whole lot of comfort at the time.

Sleep was hard to secure in a house with 11 rowdy women.

I got mauled by mosquitoes, because I just hadn’t suffered enough.

I woke the next morning to discover that I hadn’t quite finished with the bathroom – because life wasn’t meant to be easy.

I felt silly, because it all could have played out so differently.

I felt annoyed, because I really should know better.

I felt sick, because I drank all the alcohol in the world!

So, what’s the moral of the story? The same one it always is….

Alcohol is evil and I am never drinking again!!

Until I do….


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