Sunday, 22 June 2008

Most Fun Poisoning Ever

Yes indeed, I have been poisoned by Phid. Funnily enough, the last time I was poisoned was also by Phid. I spot an uncomfortable theme.

When I say poisoned I mean, of course, alcohol induced toxic horror. This came about through Phid's invitation to wine and dine - the former of which I took on with far too much enthusiasm. We went to Phid's cottage with dogs in tow, and had a splendid, 3 course meal of sweet potato & mozzarella towers, chilli duck, and home made whisky & Malteser ice cream. Champagne, red wine and dessert wine accompanied in copious draughts. After dinner entertainment involved a very jolly walk through chest-high grass which, for some reason, I found irresistable and into which I wrestled a slightly confused Fisher. Then Wheeler sneakily tangled me in dog leads and pulled me over, so I was forced to pick him up and throw him into the grass also - but failed to actually let go of him and so catapulted myself into a particularly thistly patch. When we got up we were astounded by the enormous patch we'd flattened. It was like a herd of elephants had rolled in it.

From the above it might be reasonably deduced that I'd had quite enough to drink by this point, and going back to the cottage for yet more booze would have just been stupid. So, obviously, we went back to the cottage and consumed whisky. Phid fell asleep on the sofa, their new dog Dougal tucked between her feet, and when 2.30am rolled around we all decided it was time to hit the hay, calling an end to a lovely night. I think I've been waiting for that sort of evening for ages: dinner party in the country with dogs. We really have hit our 30s - and it's great! Of course, most people of our age would probably have kiddies in tow as well, but while I'm looking forward to that step, the ball is definitely not in my court on this one.

Next morning was not a pleasant experience. Having gone to be at 2.30am, I then woke at around 6am feeling like death and couldn't get back to sleep. Wheeler had lent me a book called Red Tape and White Knuckles about a motorbike journey from Tunisia to South Africa by Lois Pryce, and I read 3/4s of it as I strived to take my mind off feeling ghastly. I heard Phid take Dougal out at 7.30, and also Baffie & Bridie, and it crossed my mind to get up and help. Then it crossed back again. I gave a small whimper at the thought of moving my stomach. I'd already got up once to go to the loo and nearly died going down the steep steps as my limbs were shaking so much I could barely hold myself upright. Instead I read with furious concentration, slipping in and out of brief dozes until waves of nausea woke me up again.

Fisher woke up at about 9 and I expected her to look as jaded as I did - but she was bright eyed and bushy tailed. Either those 2 years make an enormous difference in the hangover stakes, or I drank considerably more than her. She got up and went and chatted to Phid while I tried to convince myself I could gird my loins - and failed.

Eventually, at around 10.30, I decided enough was enough. We had to get home to greet an arriving dog at 12, and I wanted to try and make myself look slightly less like a plague-stricken vagabond. I got up, managed to wash (sort of), clean my teeth, and dress before packing up the car (or rather, letting Fisher pack the car while I returned to furious reading owing to movement not improving the state of my stomach). Bidding Phid, Wheeler and little Dougal fond farewell, we set off home.

Back at home I went straight to bed with DVDs of NCIS and dozed for a few hours. It wasn't until about 2pm that I started feeling more human, but even by the time we were due to head out for the evening I wasn't 100%. On the other hand, food was no longer to be viewed with horror, and I was actually feeling quite hungry - which was a good thing, as we were off out for a meal with Brave Bird and Minstrel.

Luckily, BB had been emphatic that the night would be very casual - and so it proved. We sat in their lovely flat as a storm built outside the windows, ate delicious coq au vin (mmm - 2 helpings for me) and home made profiteroles. I did not have any wine. It was a really nice, companionable evening, and we left at 10.45 to get back to our dogs and our guest dog, and before the storm got too bad. I drove home and it was pretty hairy on the windy, narrow roads, where deep puddles were forming at the corners - but slightly fun, too.

Back home by 11.30, we went straight to bed and I was asleep by midnight. Such is the toll of socializing in the manner of a 21 year old on my 31 year old body. Part of the reason I want to go into detail over the horrendousness of my hangover is to act as a deterrent for myself. I really, really don't want to get that drunk any more. Even today I don't feel quite tip top - not too bad, just tired and slightly unsettled - but do I really want to spend entire weekends getting over the effects of a single night?

Not, I hasten to add, that it wasn't worth it! But I think I could have suffered less and enjoyed it just as much. So let it hereby be decreed: from this moment forth, I will drink only as much as will enhance an evening without destroying the following day. In particular, I have no desire whatsoever to ruin the nedding weekend by getting bladdered on Friday night. Anyone reading this blog must remind me of it, should they see me necking back booze like it's going out of fashion. Booze is evil and should be treated with respect.


Tracy said...

yep, booze is evil and the older you get, the worse the hangovers get. Yuck what a terrible feeling:) Just adds up to lessons learned.

Seshat said...

Ugh, tell me about it. I remember the first time I 'learned' that lesson. Must have been the spring of '95 ...

Pavlov's dog learned faster than me.