I felt for them, really I did...
I work for a company who distributes wines & spirits. Thus, when it comes to company conferences, drink is not only provided in great measure, but is central to their theme.

And so it is that I've found countless opportunities these past 6 years to drink very expensive spirits until the light of dawn forces me to rush, vampire like, into a darkened room and seek solace from the glowing terror that is the sun. Naturally this isn't always possible and, as is most often the case, the morning after means either returning to the office for a full day's work, or sitting in a stuffy conference room and listening to people talking about alcohol (the horror).

On one occasion, a number of years ago, the conference was held in Hammersmith. This was one of those where, not only had I spent the entire night drinking heavily, but also was supposed to return to the office in the morning. At some point, after imbibing a delightful mix of whiskey, gin, rum, wine, other drink probably, the sun eventually plopped over the horizon and its brutal beams stung my drunken eyes. I wandered out of the hotel to top up on nicotine in time to see my colleagues clamber aboard the first coach to head back to the office, encouraging me to do likewise.

"I've, uh, got to collect some stuff from the hotel" I exclaimed. "I'll get the next one, honest" I lied.

Back in the hotel I hid until I could be sure the coach was departed, then made a stumbled dash for the tube station. At this point I had been wearing the same clothes for about 24 hours. I had been drinking for about 12 of those hours and smoking heavily throughout. My eyes were puffy pools of despair, my face was lightly bearded and I was emitting a distinct and not exactly pleasant odour.

Now, for those familiar with the Piccadily Line during morning rush hour, you'll know that it isn't exactly blessed with copious amounts of space. Therefore, you'll appreciate the particular trauma that my fellow passengers underwent that warm, mid summer morning as I tripped into a packed carriage of commuters, snarled an overly aggressive apology and slumped to a drunken slumber as we trundled toward central London.

I did feel very, very bad about it all. Really. My hangover was already kicking in and I felt unnervingly close to death.
( Moey, Thu 29 May 2008, 18:11, Reply)