The morning after the morning after


Alleluia! as they say when they want to celebrate something wonderful.

Alleluia!

I haven’t got a hangover – Alleluia!

Oh yes, I didn’t tell you did I.

I went to a party on Saturday night and had rather a lot of wine and something in a champagne glass that tasted much stronger than champagne.

I had a lot of fun and returned home, two doors away down my street, accompanied by the dawn chorus of those little birds who always manage to sound cheerful when they wake up.

It was actually six o’clock in the morning when I put my key into the lock and declared the evening over.

Yesterday wasn’t nearly as much fun.

Actually it was my first hangover since October 2008, when my brain haemorrhage dictated that I live my life in a much more sober and wholesome way.

I can remember now why people don’t very much like hangovers. They stink. I had the whole thing, the latent depression, that feeling of rebellion in my stomach, the unique pain of a hungover headache and the echo of my supercilious voice from the night before.

Before I condemn hangovers too much though, I also rather enjoyed the slowed down pace that they demand, the long lingering lunch (chicken and pumpkin soup followed by gigot of Spring lamb) with the luxury of a comforting dessert (rice pudding with lime souflet). The multiple cups of coffee tasted better than usual too. I also enjoyed that comatose sensation of letting my mind drift into oblivion whilst sitting out in the garden in the new sunny warmth that has arrived at last in England.

So it wasn’t all bad….neither was the desperately early night when I could hardly drag myself upstairs to welcome unconsciousness.

And then, yesterday…..Alleluia!

I had also forgotten how truly wonderful the day after the day after the night before really is. You never feel so well, so happy and so ready for life. Alleluia!

I woke up yesterday morning to a sunny garden with its flush of Spring flowers and its open invitation to sit out there on a lazy but alcohol-poison-free Sunday.

Oh yes, breakfast takes on a special celebratory tone too on just such a day. Who needs gallons of red wine if they could have a pot of English Breakfast tea and a bowl of home-made muesli? Nuts, grains and fruit with a jug of skimmed goat’s milk – perfection that brings a whole new meaning to tea-total.

So never again….er, well, possibly. I can’t help thinking though that it was only thanks to that hangover that I felt so good yesterday. Also, it was a really good party.

2 Comments

  1. Love the way you described the Sunday afternoon!

  2. Thanks William. I seem to have survived the experience.

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