Nobody is immune!
When I was seventeen, I thought I was immune to hangovers. Sadly, that is no longer the case, as I sit here nursing a head that feels like a bunch of angry Vikings have been on a rampage through the more sensitive parts of my skull.

As to how I lost my hangover immunity though, well, it's a story of the best-laid plans gone horribly wrong, along with some not-inconsiderable stupidity.

At the time, Dad owned a pub on Cape Clear Island. It was in the most Irish part of Ireland you could get. Potatoes were held in a special reverence. People spoke Gaelic openly. Poitín wasn't so much frowned on as encouraged. It really was like something out of The Quiet Man.

I was staying with him during my summer holidays in 6th form. To keep me out of trouble, he had me running a shop belonging to one of his tenants, who had the slight problem of not being able to see a thing. That, and the last guy to run the place had a tendency of drinking all the profits. Looking back, I can understand why. Lovely thought Cape Clear was, by the Spaghetti Monster's tendrils, it was boring.

Through boredom, I turned to drink. It wasn't so bad at first, I was making a few friends and learning some of the local language. And then, the best laid plans turned foul. Whilst I was running the shop, I was to be paid on commission. Specifically, 15% of the day's takings. Which was fine, and kept me nicely ticking over. Until one day, an American family came in, and bought half of the shop's stock in one go. I was on that day, and by my standards back then, minted.

Naturally I was going to go out and celebrate. Seemingly a few other people did too, although my common sense decided to stay in and wash its hair. What follows is probably a very old story. I didn't just get drunk. I tried everything behind the bar. Some of it, more than once. Even Pernod, and Tia Maria and milk. What a horrible combination. Eventually, I left at four am the next morning, pissed off my tiny little tits, and somehow found my way into bed, only to wake up the next day feeling like an absolute train wreck. Which lasted for three days.

I've broken many promises to myself over the years, but I truly haven't drunk that much ever again. And I haven't touched Pernod since.
( jim_bob can herd cats., Sat 26 Mar 2011, 15:47, 4 replies)

tia maria and milk is lovely

( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Sat 26 Mar 2011, 16:05, closed)

Maybe so.
It was lovely going down. However, thanks to the whiskey, vodka, tequila and everything else, it came back up as cottage cheese.
( jim_bob can herd cats., Sat 26 Mar 2011, 16:35, closed)

*boke*
*pushes away plate of scrambled egg on toast*
( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Sat 26 Mar 2011, 16:46, closed)

Not a bad achievement for a Saturday afternoon...

( jim_bob can herd cats., Sat 26 Mar 2011, 17:15, closed)