Last night was great. I got drunk, well and truly drunk, but it was only this morning I realised how drunk I was, a night of Guinness followed by Baileys mixed with Jack Daniels. Sparkling of course has reminded me not to mix my drinks, although a little late. I must of understood how drunk I was because I began to drink water and even had a cup of coffee, but it was not enough. Not enough to save me. So I woke up, not quiet in this world, but in some other place between a ship in a raging sea and the horizontal position of bed.
I believe it was all L & B man's fault, he being the perfect host would appear with one drink after the other. Guinness first, two pints, then maybe 2 or 4 glasses of JD and Baileys. I was badly intoxicated. Sparkling wanted to continue listening to music TV, eventually I managed to persuade her to leave. I didn't really. She just decided it was OK and it was then about 3 a.m. This is a long story to get to the point of how I was tortured. But I'm getting there. I think I should never drink again, but I know I will, if only there was some way around it. Maybe gene therapy against the morning after.
Some time at about 8:00 a.m a shadow of consciousness crept upon me. This was not the only shadow, for an even bigger one was present. The ghost of hang-over present. It was very present in the room, very. It was dark, not because the days are shorter and mornings are darker anyway but because of too much alcohol. It felt worse than flu, which seems to be knocking people out all over the place at this time. By comparison the 24 hour flu bug would of been a walk over. Now the torture began.
Sparkling asked me to tickle her back. But she was talking and the sound of her voice although usually very nice was like a gong in Big Ben. After some time i lay quietly, in that place where you just don't know when or if you have to puke. I was hanging on. Hoping desperately I'd not have to run to the toilet and take a closer look at the enamel. The room span round and round. I thought if I stayed still, stayed silent long enough it would pass. Sparkling asked me how I felt? And I told her about a raging sea her response was to rock me gently and asked if I felt I was on the waves. I did then. Even worse than the hang-over by itself. Sparkling carried on, she chatted about how there was extra bacon in the fridge, just for me. She talked about chocolate and Turkish Delight. I don't know how I kept it together.
Later on, some time after mid day. When all was quite. There was a little creeping outside the bedroom door. I didn't pay any attention to it, except think it was considerate not to wake me up. The next moment the door burst open. Sparkling followed Rock Chick. Then "flash" and again "flash" there were several flashes. I was caught on camera, blinded. Rock Chick was laughing. I raised my hands in defence trying to shield my eyes from the flash. Rock Chick told Sparkling to hold my arms down. I then let them take the pictures, ones which now incriminate what Crazyman looks like when hang-over. My retinas are still burning from the flashes.
About 6 hours later I got my own back, talking through TV programs, Sparkling said I was better with a hang-over. I don't believe that. I'm better now and have been able to chronicle this event, until next time that is.
Merry Chrimbo one and all
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