Hungover with a Vengeance

London Travel Blog

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I had it all so well planned - packing done, passport found, security code for checking-in noted in about four different places - but what I hadn't reckoned on was the effect of my friend Louise's birthday celebrations the night before the flight. Without exaggeration, I awoke the next morning with probably the worst hangover of my life: nausea, a pounding head, inability to see properly and no will to live. And the flight left Luton, on totally the wrong and most-difficult-to-get-to side of London, at lunchtime.

For about fifteen minutes after awaking, I just curled into a ball and tried to die. However, after it became evident that my time had not yet come, I became aware of the stark choice: face the shameful ignominy of being unable to go on holiday due to drunkeness, or put whatever small fraction of my brain might actually be working into autopilot mode and hope for the best.

Somehow - I don't remember how but it must be true - I got myself up; breakfast was out of the question, as was ordering a taxi to the airport, since I am easily car-sick and just the thought of the smell of interior upholstery made me want to heave - not that it took very much. There was nothing for it but to begin the trek to the airport, which involved a walk, a train, a bus, another train and another bus. Fortunately, the effort of having to appear in public actually made me feel a bit better, and by the time I checked in at the EasyJet desk I had come to believe that
  • I might possibly be able to eat again
  • life might indeed be preferable to death
  • an earlier resolution never again to touch a drop of alcohol might have been a little overdramatic and unnecessary
and in celebration of these new beliefs I bought and consumed two bananas and a bottle of mineral water.

Then I indulged in my usual pre-flight activity of contemplating my fellow-passengers and wondering whether they were the kind of people with whom I would want to die when the plane plummeted out of the sky. As always, the answer was No. In fact, and this was bad, bad, bad, they all seemed to be in raucous parties of about twelve; but it was not until we eventually boarded the plane that the real shouting started, up the aisle, down the aisle, across the aisle. And all that I wanted to do was sink into insensibility and hope that a nice two-hour coma would clear my head and return me to a state of comparative normality by the time we arrived.
gooseberry says:
looks like you got yourself a memorable travel experience ;)
Posted on: Nov 30, 2006
-amy says:
your style of writing is hilarious :)
Posted on: Sep 01, 2006
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London
photo by: ulysses