Piss-fit, hangover and national shame
I am not piss-fit. Sadly.
You would think after my travels and regular caning of my liver that my ability to drink would be exceptional. I should be at Olympic athlete standard in the bevvie stakes, comparitively, but I am not piss-fit, which to an Australian is verging on national shame.
I am currently staying with friends in London until I get myself sorted, and Saturday night saw my friend and I enjoying the bright lights of London's theatre scene and a possibly one drink too many. Consequently yesterday I spent the day wandering around generally bemoaning my life and watching reruns of Grey's Anatomy on Sky, mostly because it involved no actual input from me and I didn't have to concentrate on the plot too long. Hangovers can be like that, the random staring into the fridge to find the holy grail of foods that will somehow miraculously perk you up; the starting of things that you never finish; and the need to wear thick socks and a comfy tracker if you actually make it from bed in a valiant effort to pretend that you're not that hung over.
However, usually you can go to bed and then wake up the next morning, positively brimming with energy and enthusiasm as you are no longer hung over. Comparitively it's like a new lease of life. The sun shines that bit brighter (and you don't squint with agony like a recent survivor of cataract replacement surgery); you can listen to more than white noise on the radio and the toothpaste no longer tastes like sambucca, so you can brush your teeth without needing to gag. All in all, post hang over day is quite probably as good as it gets. Other than today. I woke up and obviously am no longer hung over, but feel just as bad. I still have the head ache. My mouth still tastes like I've licked an ashtray clean and while I'm not in a tracker, I do have on thick and comfy socks.
The only conclusion I can come to is that I'm not piss-fit.
"Piss-fit" is a term I came across while reading an hilarious book by brilliant Australian author John Birmingham. http://www.duffyandsnellgrove.com.au/authors/birmingham.htm
It is used to refer to the preparations required to drink continuously. In the same way that elite athletes train, serious drinkers prepare by becoming piss-fit.
Please note in no way does this writer, nor this blog, encourage the socially adolescent act of binge drinking. Unless you are comfortable being socially adolescent, in which case, beer me.
So, as I write this, I am still at that stage of wondering what fat laden, deep fried crunchy goodness will shake my cotton wool filled brain from its hiding place. I could probably go to the fresh fruit and salad route to give my poor suffering liver a rest, but it's not looking promising. So off to Tescos I go. More later guys!
You would think after my travels and regular caning of my liver that my ability to drink would be exceptional. I should be at Olympic athlete standard in the bevvie stakes, comparitively, but I am not piss-fit, which to an Australian is verging on national shame.
I am currently staying with friends in London until I get myself sorted, and Saturday night saw my friend and I enjoying the bright lights of London's theatre scene and a possibly one drink too many. Consequently yesterday I spent the day wandering around generally bemoaning my life and watching reruns of Grey's Anatomy on Sky, mostly because it involved no actual input from me and I didn't have to concentrate on the plot too long. Hangovers can be like that, the random staring into the fridge to find the holy grail of foods that will somehow miraculously perk you up; the starting of things that you never finish; and the need to wear thick socks and a comfy tracker if you actually make it from bed in a valiant effort to pretend that you're not that hung over.
However, usually you can go to bed and then wake up the next morning, positively brimming with energy and enthusiasm as you are no longer hung over. Comparitively it's like a new lease of life. The sun shines that bit brighter (and you don't squint with agony like a recent survivor of cataract replacement surgery); you can listen to more than white noise on the radio and the toothpaste no longer tastes like sambucca, so you can brush your teeth without needing to gag. All in all, post hang over day is quite probably as good as it gets. Other than today. I woke up and obviously am no longer hung over, but feel just as bad. I still have the head ache. My mouth still tastes like I've licked an ashtray clean and while I'm not in a tracker, I do have on thick and comfy socks.
The only conclusion I can come to is that I'm not piss-fit.
"Piss-fit" is a term I came across while reading an hilarious book by brilliant Australian author John Birmingham. http://www.duffyandsnellgrove.com.au/authors/birmingham.htm
It is used to refer to the preparations required to drink continuously. In the same way that elite athletes train, serious drinkers prepare by becoming piss-fit.
Please note in no way does this writer, nor this blog, encourage the socially adolescent act of binge drinking. Unless you are comfortable being socially adolescent, in which case, beer me.
So, as I write this, I am still at that stage of wondering what fat laden, deep fried crunchy goodness will shake my cotton wool filled brain from its hiding place. I could probably go to the fresh fruit and salad route to give my poor suffering liver a rest, but it's not looking promising. So off to Tescos I go. More later guys!
