It’s been about a week since Christmas threw up in my house (thanks Lucy) and the Christmas cheer has risen to an even more unacceptable level. I think tomorrow I might put Shindler’s List on in the background just to cut the festivities down to size.
Last night got out of hand and my lecture at nine o’clock today was unpleasant to say the least. My head felt like a big bit of wood covered in grease proof paper and my mouth tasted like bonfire. After a few hours of pretending to make notes in lectures I took refuge on the sofa, where I sat watching a black and white film about world war one. It had Kirk Douglas in it and it was sweet (not least because the cowardice court marshals and executions really took the edge off the fucking Cliff Richard playing in the kitchen.) Not wanting to move from the recovery chair, I then watched Count Down and fell in love with the new Carol Vorderman. My housemates got very angry that every time she came on screen I would shout “Fucking hell she’s hot!” I think it’s the intelligence thing. It just works.
Partly because I was still hung over and partly because I needed to cool down after an hour of Carol Vorderman 2, I then indulged in what has to be the best hangover cure in the world.
The SHOWER-BATH
I invented the shower bath after a particularly brutal night on the town. It’s rather obvious what it entails but I will just clarify to make sure that you understand just how great it is. You sit in the bath tub as if you were about to run a bath but just run a shower instead. After about 6 or 7 minutes your bath should be filling nicely but you’re also having a shower. FANTASTIC. Unfortunately there is a minor complication. Once the bath gets about a half full you have to run the bath taps instead of the shower because the shower water that has collected gets cold. It is very much worth the effort though. When the bath is nice and warm again you can always go back to the shower till the bath is full but I tend to just stick to a regular bath from then on.
I warn you though; once you’re in the shower-bath there really is no going back. You’re in for the long haul. My house mates, the lovely guys that they are, tend to end mine for me. You see to stay in the shower-bath for any length of time you need to unlock the bathroom door so that you’re housemates bladders don’t end the fun prematurely. A month ago David forced me to hop out after a measly hour and half when he blew his nose and then dropped his snotty tissue into the soapy water. Today Pete prised me away by doing the same thing with a sausage roll, which wasn’t quite as bad as snot but the feeling of soggy pastry on my bum isn’t one I’m dying to relive. Generally speaking the ideal duration is three re-warmings.
But anyway, I went out last night to our union. It was a good night. I staggered round claiming it was birthday and asking people for presents. It had mixed results I got told to fuck off and a hickey.
Moist song of the day....... Go your own way by Fleetwood Mac
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