Lifestyle, Stag planning

8 Stages of a Hangover


You’ve done it again. Another morning of misery and self-pity. ‘Why oh why didn’t I stop before the shots began?’. But there’s no point crying over spilt tequila. The first rule of beating the morning-after-demons is to understand your enemy. So here are the 8 stages of the hangover.


“Oooooooooohhh my head!” As the light burns a hole through your cornea and starts to melt the inside of your skull, you struggle to work out just why your mouth tastes like a Filipino fisherman’s flip flop. Also how come you’re wearing someone else’s clothes? Just what the hell happened last night?!?


Ah yes, Macca and Beano Steve said they were going out for a ‘quiet one’ and like a fool you believed them. The three of you have never had a quiet drink. Ever! Thankfully it’s a Bank Holiday, giving you a full day to wallow in your misery. Thank the lord for your emergency pack of Weetabix.


“Aarrghh!” You’re out of Weetabix! You forgot to replace them after the last morning-after-emergency. And bang goes the Bank Holiday. You were going to be a man of action, you were finally going to get through that list of jobs you’ve been putting off. The leaky tap, phoning your mum, finally putting together the flat pack wardrobe so you can hang up your clothes and stop living like a student. Looks like it’s going to be a duvet day while you pray to Bacchus to take the pain away.


“Never again. I am never, ever drinking again.” Hollow words with about as much meaning as “One day Leicester City FC will win the Premier League.” Ok, so miracles do happen but only once in a lifetime and seeing as Vardy’s already had his party you know deep down you’re highly unlikely to turn down a Friday night invite between now and your retirement do.


There is no finer word for this phase of the hangover;

‘Redemption [ri-demp-shuh n] – The deliverance from sin. Atoning for a fault or mistake.’

Firstly you’re going to need liquid, pain relief and some form of dry sustenance. All you’ve got in the kitchen is half a loaf of blue looking bread, some fruit (what the hell’s that doing there?), a couple of frozen pizzas and something that might once have been a steak pie. There’s nothing else for it. You’re going to have to go to the shop.


Actually the walk wasn’t so bad. Ok, so you stumbled a bit and that kind old lady had to help you across the road, but you’re back. Bread, bacon, OJ. Let the medical miracle begin. Time to hit the sofa and unwrap that Godfather boxset you’ve been saving for just such an occasion.


“You can act like a man! What’s the matter with you? Is this how you turned out, a Hollywood finocchio that cries like a woman?” You’ve dried your eyes, the bacon butties have worked their restorative powers, you’re even able to stand without swaying. You feel like Lazarus, although you’re not 100% sure if Lazarus was the bloke in the bible who rose from the dead or one of Don Corleone’s cousins.


You’re a new man, walking, talking, quoting the best lines from the best movie trilogy ever and you’re even thinking of making a start on that ‘to-do’ list.

Then Beano Steve calls and makes you an offer you can’t refuse.

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