My mind’s telling me no.
But my body…My body’s telling me- Also no, please no, no more alcohol- You need to stop!
Turns out, after not drinking for a week, that homemade cocktails for predrinks (homemade means considerably more vodka), combined with Red Stripe whilst out clubbing, topped off with a greasy McDonald’s at 1 in the morning, means that you’re not going to be all blossoming in the morning – more of a dead and wilted flower, that’s gone three rounds with a weed whacker. Granted, the hangover from my night out clubbing was not as bad as it could have been- or at least I was determined not to let it be as I had a house party to go to, and I was determined to be able to drink for it. I did everything to combat the alcohol induced headache, I tried to sleep the badness off me, sweat the evil away by going for a run, and soak up the shame with a foot long subway. Regardless of the pleas my body was making, I love going to house parties, and I wasn’t going to let something like a niggling/crippling headache get in the way of a good time.
Now, thanks to the likes of shows like Skins and most Gross Out American Comedies, the prospect of a house party can conjure up images of loud music, living room raves and kitchen orgies. However this is a much more tame affair, this is a house party where you can find a Hipster Grim Reaper, a zombie killing Liz Bennet, a White Walker, and an undead Paul Hollywood drunkenly talking about The Great British Bake Off. Ah yes, this is much more my scene, because as you know from my last blog post, I am a 60 year old man trapped in the body of a 25 year old.
I will say in all seriousness, that it was a damn fine house party. Kudos to our hosts, the aforementioned White Walker and Coma-Doof Warrior (that’s a Game of Thrones/Mad Max spin off I would pay to see), for throwing a fantastic night for us costumed alcoholics. I especially loved the decorations, that helped make the house, as they would say, Totes Spoopy, complete with a dead body in the bath, a toilet witch that laughed whilst you tried to pee, and enough Poundland cobwebs hanging from the ceiling, for any poor soul over 4 feet to become tangled in. A great night was had, with good food, great drinking, and a fantastic class of company.
As the alcohol poured, me choosing to stick with a healthy option of Italian and Spanish Beer, I felt the best I had all weekend. Hey, maybe this hair of the dog thing does work after all – I feel wonderful. I feel like I’m floating on air, I fought fire with fire, and I came out without a burn in sight – I’m a genius.
And then I woke up…
So after a night of drinking, following a mild hangover, topped off with door-to-door kebab delivery (it was literally the only place delivering food at that time, gone are the days of Dominoes Pizza delivering till 4am…those were the days), ending with myself, the Hipster Grim Reaper, sitting up till 3am with a mauled Belle from Beauty and the Beast, watching Graham Norton, and talking about Dead celebrities till 3am, needless to say I woke up the following (or should that be the same?) morning feeling… Absolutely fine… OK, I say absolutely fine… that may be a slight stretch of the truth, but I didn’t feel like I was knocking on death’s door (which would be ironic considering my costume), but at the same time I wasn’t exactly knocking on alives door either (What the hell am I talking about?). I think the only explanation was that I had put my body through a liquid beating that come this morning, it didn’t even bother to clock in and muster up the effort to give me a hangover. The White Flag was raised, I had surpassed the hangover.
However, my body had the last laugh, by going on strike, it meant I was suddenly reduced to a shaking and quivering wreck, as myself and the now un-mauled Belle, dragged our sorry carcasses through the local co-op in an Everest level difficulty quest for Bacon and Beans. Despite my best efforts to look like a functioning member of society, I couldn’t escape the judging look from a 12 year old in the shop, as I cradled the last pack of bacon, as if it were my own child – The facade was a failure. Well back to the comfort my own home, to resume a horizontal position for the rest of the day.
Myself and Belle both knew that, after flicking through the channels and landing on Channel 4 +1 to find a clip from Sunday Brunch that we had already seen an hour earlier, that today was going to be a write off. To be honest, the fact I have been out two nights in a row and probably consumed about the same level of alcohol as I did during a week in Majorca, it’s a miracle I’m even alive at all. So the fact I even opened my eyes today means I should be congratulating myself. Well done me, this is obviously an achievement I should be proud of…
Well, time for another detox, I feel I owe my body that much. My thanks and apologies for what I have put you through. I shall now sleep until Bonfire Night.
P.S: Credit once again goes to Francesca Senior aka The Mauled Belle from Beauty and the Beast, for completing my Hipster Grim Reaper look, with some stunning make up work. If you want
to know how to have a Halloween makeup look as good as hers, be sure to check out her latest blog post here.
P.P.S: Reason for my costume? Well, can you think of anythig scarier than a Hipster Grim Reaper? Please, I was reaping before it was cool!