Ow. My Head.

I would have used exclamation marks, but that would have hurt my head too much*. Yes folks, I am officially hungover. Despite getting up at 7am not feeling too bad beyond a lightly throbbing headache and having liberally quaffed the requisite ibuprofen over my breakfast of tea and toast, I now feel as if I have an IV attached to me, specifically designed to remove every fluid ounce of energy from my body.

To be fair, I did not consume a great deal – just half a bottle of champagne I had been given and had chilling ain a conveniently located fridge, followed by a couple of pints in Bellamy’s Bar. Yet I made the godawful and schoolboy error of not having eaten since breakfast; odd when you consider that I am neither godawful nor am I a schoolboy.

Suffice it to say that the champagne (possibly the worst beverage to have sloshing around an empty stomach) and lager (2nd worst) left me a little worse for wear. Strangely for one who usually manages to recollect the finer points of even the most debauched of evenings, I have no idea how I got on the tube or the ride itself. The night only picks up again as I am walking the streets of Bow towards my cosy abode.

And it was here that I came across the most devious alcohol demons: a late night MacDonalds. And I had money on me. Fortunately, I resisted the drunken temptation to order everything on the menu. Unfortunately, I ordered a milkshake. A milkshake! Of all the post alcohol drinks one can devour, this one is probably the most suicidal (drinks do have feelings, y’know, lol), with its thick texture and frozen taste combining to make it a pleasant enough drink with horrible consequences the following morning. But devour it it I did. No prizes for guessing why I feel so iffy now.

And therein lies my explanation of why you shall have to wait until this afternoon to read my account of last nights conference with Jon Cruddas which, fortunately, occurred prior to my drinkage, and which, fortunately, I took notes on.

I hereby apologise to anyone I offended/bored/your description of my drunkenness here.

Now, I wonder if that cork ever turned up?

• Let the records show that I wrote this this morning. Yet in post-alcoholic melancholy managed not to “publish.”