Sunday, September 10, 2006

flaming nora

Why is it that a simple invitation to dinner results in my having a stinky hangover and a throat like a chimney pre-smokeless fuel?

There was absolutely no need for me to stay up talking until almost five. In fact, the conversation wasn't that illuminating or interesting really.

I had plans, things to do. My gym bag was packed, I was going to tidy the house, get some preparation in for the interview tomorrow.

Instead an afternoon moping around on the sofa, reading the guardian magazine from yesterday and chortling at the images of Jimmy Carr as Jack Nicholson in the Shining whilst munching crisps and chocolate and generally feeling most unwell.

What was the frigging point of today in my life, like really?

They say that you should never feel you've wasted a day in your life, yet I've wasted years of my adult life through hangovers.

The mandatory Irish lets get pissed. Take tonight for instance, I just know that I'll have at least a can of beer or a glass of wine. Maybe booze is the only requiem in this windswept waterlogged island, but at the same time, maybe if I didn't booze I'd actually get something done instead of being a permanent slacker with a PHD in self-pity.

Hey, Aoife, thanks for your nice comment on my blog, which was really nice of you. I don't think I'm going to post again, but you can mail me at whenever you like, to hear my wacky views.

I actually had my first hangover ever on Saturday, I went years without drinking and only started last year, even though I'm sure it was mild as hangovers go. It's not an experience I'm keen to repeat. But what can you do when people insist on pressing drinks upon you?

Good luck in your interview.
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