Hangovers rule

Due to circumstances beyond my control, I am not able to drink alcohol at the moment. When I found out I would be off the sauce for a few weeks, I was in a dark place and, knowing alcohol is a depressant, agreed that it might be wise to steer clear. Now I am feeling a tad more human and am consequently champing at the bit once more. I have ten bottles of wine at home, collected over several months from various sources, six of which are going to be delicious. One is a bottle of champagne that I accidentally put into storage in 2001 and will probably be disgusting. The remaining three are hit and miss. But whatever happens, I am looking forward to my next tasting.

Strangely, as well as the giddy pissed feeling that is missing from my life, I also have some nostalgia for hangovers. Laura is at work with one today, and has been lurching from her desk to my office all morning to giggle maniacally and ask if it's alright if she takes a nap on my floor. It's fairly distracting but I envy that shift in perspective which comes the morning after, as though it's a miracle of Cana-esque proportions that one is even upright and the fact that one has commuted to work and managed to answer a ringing phone is enough to inspire a new religious movement. The many petty considerations that usually eddy and whirl round one's head float away into the distance as all effort is focussed on basic tasks that our unconscious can usually handle unaided, such as 'not vomiting'.

Meanwhile, I am eleven days sober and feeling hyper-aware of my surroundings, including the delightful aroma of second hand vinegar that is wafting in through my open door as the traders eat their Friday fish and chips. Laura's quashing her nausea at Wagamama's but I couldn't join in as I have to use my lunchbreak to go to the gym. I am wildly envious but trying to concentrate on the fact that my healthiness means I may live longer than her by a few months, but even that is scant consolation since by that time I'll be riddled with arthritis and one of those bitter old people who's waited eight decades for their fun life to begin and has finally realised that it's never going to happen. I need a drink.