I’m partial to a jar or two every once in a while. In fact, I thoroughly enjoy the experience. There’s nothing quite like a glass of wine, or a stiff Vodka and Tonic, to take the edge of a stressful day. Lately, though, I’ve found that not only do I find drinking less enjoyable but also the effects of drinking are starting to make me wonder why I bother.
During my university days, hangovers were non-existent; they were what old people experienced. I could drink substantial quantities and not worry about it next day. I think that was partly because I stayed in bed until midday and therefore had the restorative effects of sleep to ward off the hangover.
That cloak of invincibility stayed with me through my twenties and most of my thirties. I could drink large volume and do so late into the night and still be able to function at work the next day.
But lately, the hangovers have reached epidemic proportions. It’s no longer a matter of a can of Coke to make things right in the world. Now it has to be a full English breakfast, several cans of coke, a cup of coffee and a two hour snooze. And even then I have trouble remembering my name.
I’m guessing this has something to do with my age because others who’ve reached the 40 milestone report similar experiences.
It hardly bodes well for my drinking credentials but I guess I should take comfort in the fact that it does happen to us all. I remember my Gran getting more than a little tipsy on a glass of sherry and a glass of sweet white wine one Christmas lunch several years ago.
I suppose there’s a bright side. The money I used to spend on alcohol can now be put to better use – perhaps saving for a pair of slippers and a pipe that I can use as I doze by the fire after my single pint of bitter. Joy