I’m sitting in bed in a converted radar station building overlooking the Atlantic Ocean. I can’t quite see land on the other side, but if I could, then it would be the Southernmost cost of Brazil about 6,500 km away. My eyesight isn’t that good. I fact, not much of me is very good today after a very heavy session on last night. Loads of fun, loads of laughter, but a quite terrifying sight of empty bottles of many varieties this morning.
I feel as rough as a nomad’s heel. I haven’t been this hungover in many, many years.
We’re away with friends for three days, but clearly pacing ourselves was never an option. The release after a taxing week was just too tempting. We’re grown ups. We really should know better. On the plus side, I’m really not feeling the need to drink ever again, so I’m confident of waking up feeling much healthier tomorrow morning.
I will admit to feeling a little jaded today. Last night was a lot of fun, but a scary amount of alcohol was drunk and I’m really not feeling ever so brilliant today. In fact, I’ve even just taken an afternoon nap in an attempt to mend myself. It’s only partially succeeded. Very partially.
The food was good. I am a big believer in keeping things simple and doing them right, and I think I got at least half of that right yesterday.
The back continues to improve as well – thanks for asking. I’m fairly sure that the disc has popped itself all the way back in now. No more pins and needles in my foot and ugly pain down my leg. Gym tomorrow then? Nah – maybe not quite yet, but it will happen sometime this week.
And that’s about it. When you’re hungover and still have mildly sore sacrum, you don’t want to be sitting writing long posts. You don’t really want to be doing anything, which is exactly what I plan to continue (not) doing now.
Dinner was great as well. A really chilled evening with one eye on events 6000 miles… away, and several (or more) drinks: some earlier on for Dutch courage, some more later to celebrate. It was a messy, late night and I’m feeling it today.
We are having a science weekend at home (and in the lab). Science projects for both the kids yesterday and today, and the City Nature Challenge to play with this afternoon.
Finding 10 minutes alone to try and recover with something gentle like Agnes Obel’s Dorian has been the only saving grace for my poor, tired, aching body.
And that’s raised an interesting and rather worrying question in my currently overstretched and under-rested mind:
Are long haul flights like hangovers?
There do seem to be some similarities: they are both self-inflicted, they both leave you feeling dreadful the next day, they both cost a lot (although if you knock back a CPT-LHR BA ticket’s worth of booze, you’ll likely be dead so it won’t matter anyway), and the recovery from each seems to be taking longer and longer as I get older.
I used to bounce back after a good night’s sleep. This time, I’ve already had two decent sessions (careful now), and yet I’m still very definitely struggling. And you don’t even know if I’m talking about a flight or an evening of boozing.
Has anyone else noticed this phenomenon?
I don’t like it. I don’t like the idea of it. I don’t like the way I’m still feeling so battered this morning. I don’t like the way that this sort of thing reminds me of my mortality. And I fully plan to combat these negative thoughts with booze and travel.