Post Paddy Blues

Ahh, the 18th of March. Not really anything to point out about it, it's not special or magical or unique (unless you are a big fan of Queen Latifa who turns a year older on this day of days), it could in fact be one of those days that just pass you by without making much of a fuss. However, the 18th of March comes right after the 17th of March (the more astute readers may have figured this out already, but there's nothing wrong with a bit of catchup for the rest. And the Americans) and the 17th is of course St Paddy's day, which means that today is probably one of the special days of the year when most of the western world is nursing one huge hangover.

And, despite promising myself to restrict the booze intake, I am no exception.

Now, where hangovers are concerned, I must say that I'm not too bothered about that thudding behind the eyes as long as I'm warm, have nice food and can lounge about for most of the day. Maybe even a trip to the supermarket. Brilliant places, supermarkets. Nice and bright with lots of colour, very safe and they don't even charge you to get in! Bargain! I especially love the condiments section, loads of bottles and jars and the like... I digress however, so to recap- hangovers are not so bad as long as the day is geared to the recovery.

But on the flip side of this coin we have days like today. Upon waking, you find that all the lights in the house are still burning bright, you did make it to bed but seem to have forgotten to get out of your clothes and the contact lenses that you have neglected to remove from your peepers are now quite dry and the eyes are starting to go 'a bit crusty'. Worse than that, you realise that work is imminent and the twelve hour shift will not magically disappear if you just stay in bed. So, unceremoniously throwing your world-weary bulk out of bed, its a quick dress (or a least as fast as the head will permit. And a good deal more swearing too) and out the door without a wash, breakfast or much in the way of sense.

Twelve hours is a long time. And when hungover, it's roughly five times as long (worked that one out with a very calculated equation). So the thing to do is make sure that everyone else knows you are hungover by moaning and griping and generally being a bitter and resentful person, so that they will wish, almost as much as you do, that you were not in work that day.

Oh, by the way, if my mum should be reading this, it's not about me, I definitely wasn't drinking last night.

And one more thing; with regards to supermarkets, I do love the places, but not the supermakets in Sweden. They are rubbish.