Why do we do it?
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Why do we do it?
(Lifted)
The morning after the weekend before
It's the first working day after England and Wales's inaugural 24-hour drinking weekend. And many people will doubtless have spent much of the weekend feeling a bit worse for wear. Author Stephen Tomkins wonders why, when everyone knows how they feel after a few drinks, do we do it?
It's the taste of repentance.
It's the taste of remorse, and the revenge of your body. 'Go ahead,' it says, 'pump me full of poisons. You're the boss. But in the morning, I'll be in charge. And you'll pay, you punk.'
It's the taste of what goes up coming back down, rather further than it went up. At least it's not the taste of what went down coming up.
It's the taste of stale booze and nicotine and acetaldehyde and whatever this filth is on your tongue. It's the taste of ashtrays swilled out with morning-after dregs - which you don't recall drinking but you couldn't swear.
It's not an especially nice taste at all.
It's the taste of self-inflicted physical abuse that seemed like a pretty good idea at the time.
It's the taste, if you'll forgive me getting philosophical on a Monday morning, of determinism. Because what creature in control of its own destiny would have chosen this one?
Stone age
It's the taste of living in the biotechnological stone age. One day we'll all have microchips allowing us to put our brains back to sleep until it's all over. Normally, you might have reservations about messing with nature, but this morning you see it clearly. Nature is the enemy and deserves what's coming to it.
It's the taste of learning when to call it a night, six hours too late. It's sod's law. Any reasonable sense of judgement will tell you to stop when you've had a few. But then what does having a few do to your sense of judgement?
It's a nasty taste in the mouth, but the one advantage you have over the rest of the world is that you can't smell it.
It is of course the taste of the morning after the night before. It's just that you seem to have ended up with several other people's nights before too.
What you could really do with is the taste of coffee - but then do you actually need any more dehydration? Your brain has clearly dried and shrivelled into a kind of furry walnut, and that can't be good. Ironic really, considering how much fluid you put in your body last night, and how desperate it seemed to get rid of it all.
You could also do with an effective hangover cure. What was that thing with orange juice and a raw egg? You discuss the subject of raw eggs with your stomach and get the gastric equivalent of a hollow laugh. Well, you don't want to tempt bird flu anyway, though how bad can it be compared to this morning?
Drumming
This is divine retribution for having Christmas drinks before it's even December. Now you've already got a premature gift of 12 drummers drumming in your head, 11 lords a-leaping, and quite possibly several species of old English poultry too.
The editor would like me to analyse how you can feel so bad on a Monday morning that you swear you'll never touch another drop, and then on Friday do it all again. And it is indeed an interesting question, but a very easy one too - hence the unusually drawn-out getting to the point. The answer is: stupidity. Stupidity and/or dependence, take your pick.
If you'd like more detail on the point: you crawl through a day of miserable self-inflicted illness, pain, nausea, feeling like a landfill, and hating yourself and everything else. Then once the feeling wears off, at the next opportunity you do it again.
<TABLE><TBODY><TR><TD width=5></TD><TD class=fact><!--Smva-->It's the taste of what goes up coming back down, rather further than it went up
<!--Emva-->
</TD></TR></TBODY></TABLE>
And it's not even as if this is the inescapable price for an enjoyable night out. People have been known to enjoy a night out without losing the use of their legs, throwing up on the night bus and waking up in purgatory. So, stupidity and/or dependence, take your pick.
To be fair, I suppose there is one more factor, which is that humans don't seem to have a very good memory for pain and illness. Every time I get sick, it's the worst thing in the whole world ever (and yes I am a bloke), it's intolerable misery, and all those times before that I thought were the worst illness of my life, I didn't know what I was moaning about. And then when it goes away I realise that it wasn't so bad after all and I should have just pulled my socks up. So I'll concede it's probably natural to forget how badly one suffers. Then again, if a friend said, 'Do you want to go out and get the flu on Friday?"' I think I'd have the sense to pass anyway.
The morning after the weekend before
It's the first working day after England and Wales's inaugural 24-hour drinking weekend. And many people will doubtless have spent much of the weekend feeling a bit worse for wear. Author Stephen Tomkins wonders why, when everyone knows how they feel after a few drinks, do we do it?
It's the taste of repentance.
It's the taste of remorse, and the revenge of your body. 'Go ahead,' it says, 'pump me full of poisons. You're the boss. But in the morning, I'll be in charge. And you'll pay, you punk.'
It's the taste of what goes up coming back down, rather further than it went up. At least it's not the taste of what went down coming up.
It's the taste of stale booze and nicotine and acetaldehyde and whatever this filth is on your tongue. It's the taste of ashtrays swilled out with morning-after dregs - which you don't recall drinking but you couldn't swear.
It's not an especially nice taste at all.
It's the taste of self-inflicted physical abuse that seemed like a pretty good idea at the time.
It's the taste, if you'll forgive me getting philosophical on a Monday morning, of determinism. Because what creature in control of its own destiny would have chosen this one?
Stone age
It's the taste of living in the biotechnological stone age. One day we'll all have microchips allowing us to put our brains back to sleep until it's all over. Normally, you might have reservations about messing with nature, but this morning you see it clearly. Nature is the enemy and deserves what's coming to it.
It's the taste of learning when to call it a night, six hours too late. It's sod's law. Any reasonable sense of judgement will tell you to stop when you've had a few. But then what does having a few do to your sense of judgement?
It's a nasty taste in the mouth, but the one advantage you have over the rest of the world is that you can't smell it.
It is of course the taste of the morning after the night before. It's just that you seem to have ended up with several other people's nights before too.
What you could really do with is the taste of coffee - but then do you actually need any more dehydration? Your brain has clearly dried and shrivelled into a kind of furry walnut, and that can't be good. Ironic really, considering how much fluid you put in your body last night, and how desperate it seemed to get rid of it all.
You could also do with an effective hangover cure. What was that thing with orange juice and a raw egg? You discuss the subject of raw eggs with your stomach and get the gastric equivalent of a hollow laugh. Well, you don't want to tempt bird flu anyway, though how bad can it be compared to this morning?
Drumming
This is divine retribution for having Christmas drinks before it's even December. Now you've already got a premature gift of 12 drummers drumming in your head, 11 lords a-leaping, and quite possibly several species of old English poultry too.
The editor would like me to analyse how you can feel so bad on a Monday morning that you swear you'll never touch another drop, and then on Friday do it all again. And it is indeed an interesting question, but a very easy one too - hence the unusually drawn-out getting to the point. The answer is: stupidity. Stupidity and/or dependence, take your pick.
If you'd like more detail on the point: you crawl through a day of miserable self-inflicted illness, pain, nausea, feeling like a landfill, and hating yourself and everything else. Then once the feeling wears off, at the next opportunity you do it again.
<TABLE><TBODY><TR><TD width=5></TD><TD class=fact><!--Smva-->It's the taste of what goes up coming back down, rather further than it went up
<!--Emva-->
</TD></TR></TBODY></TABLE>
And it's not even as if this is the inescapable price for an enjoyable night out. People have been known to enjoy a night out without losing the use of their legs, throwing up on the night bus and waking up in purgatory. So, stupidity and/or dependence, take your pick.
To be fair, I suppose there is one more factor, which is that humans don't seem to have a very good memory for pain and illness. Every time I get sick, it's the worst thing in the whole world ever (and yes I am a bloke), it's intolerable misery, and all those times before that I thought were the worst illness of my life, I didn't know what I was moaning about. And then when it goes away I realise that it wasn't so bad after all and I should have just pulled my socks up. So I'll concede it's probably natural to forget how badly one suffers. Then again, if a friend said, 'Do you want to go out and get the flu on Friday?"' I think I'd have the sense to pass anyway.
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