Sobering thought!

Bonjour,

I have discovered a new way of getting rid of hangovers.

Not drinking!

Now fear not distressed reader, for this is not a permanent sanction. I have merely decided to cut down my weekly intake to a trickle or nothing at all, and keep my love affair with beer and red wine confined to glorious weekends of indulgent splendor. My units are now comfortably within government health and safety guidelines, I don't bindge and I have never been so miserable.

You see dear reader, that this self imposed restraint has led to some very disturbing side effects.

When I went to the pub with Ian for a chat and a game of darts in the wonderful North Star Pub in Leytonstone, I drove. Ian, being supportive of my task, joined me in a glass of lemonade.

We chatted as normal, played bad darts for an hour or so (that's how long it takes us to hit a double sometimes), but then I asked if Ian wanted another cheeky lemonade. His answer was "Na thanks". Ian often refuses when I try to ply him with drink (he's the sensible one), but I didn't want a drink either. After 3 pints of lemonade, I could drink no more. I was defeated!

When I thought about it I felt pretty gross. Three pints of Lemonade is pretty heavy going. That then got me thinking as to how on earth I could physically drink 7 pints of Newcastle Brown Ale and still have room for a reconstituted Kebab and chips, like any other Tuesday morning?

I looked into the science of it all. I know that alcohol helps absorb food faster and beer dehydrates you by making you wee out more than you take in. All very interesting, but I'm not wholly convinced that this explains the phenomenon.

I believe that there are more spiritual powers at work. I'm convinced there is some sort of mystical force that resonates during the brewing/fermenting process. And it has the power to turn your stomach into a tardis/carpet bag/Chichister Cathedral!

The initial affects are staggering. You can't just go to the pub for one pint, the force inside you is already too strong. Even if you know you have to be home because your dinners cooked/take the dog out/kindney transplant, you quickly resign yourself to your fate. It's going to be at least three!!

Then at three pints, the force has practically taken over your soul. Your ability to make coherent decisions is gone. The evening is a right off, and as you are already at the pub you might as well stay!

After 7 pints your stomach gives you a tiny little reminder that you haven't eaten, and then it's off to the nearest Curry house or purveyor of dodgey Kebabs (remember, the more bacteria the better. It's soaks up the alcohol)BUT WHERE DO WE FIT IT ALL?

In conclusion, this has to be a miracle, an act of God that no man can insure against. It's like the changing of the seasons and the tides of the sea, it happens, and I can accept no responsibility for it. Well, that was my excuse anyway.

Manifestly, I ugre you all to not upset these Gods. Do not laugh or anger them, because they bite back in the morning. Be reverential and please drink responsibly!

Thank you and goodnight.