Which Hangover Is Yours?

Hangovers. They’re a fact of life. In Bristol they fall into four broad categories. Chances are you’ll be suffering from at least one come tomorrow morning…

Despite still being in a highly toxic state, you’ve woken up unaccountably early, and bounded out of bed, ready to face the day. You have taken out the bins first thing, and in doing so managed to score a date with one of the bin men.

You make ambitious and extravagant plans for the rest of the day; no, the rest of your LIFE.

God help anyone in a seminar with you that morning – you will dominate. Whilst you see yourself at your peak, others will see you as an obnoxious prick, blindly oblivious to both your own lunacy, and the vomit spatters down the front of your shirt.

My Oxbridge interview may well have taken place whilst I was in this very state. You can guess what happened.

Be prepared to feel like crap in the morning!

If ever a club deserved its own brand of hangover it’s Pam Pam. You vaguely remember bumbling in to that swirling zoo. You were already well on your way at that point, but something about those bright lights, that terrible chart-house music and all those awful people drove you to the bar.

The bottle of wine because it was £7, the Jagerbombs for all your frenemies, the WoodyBowyer to slop all over the dancefloor, those lightning-quick chip and pin machines – it was always going to be a disaster.

The Double-P hangover is its own particular brand of self-hate. Every Friday morning, the world ceases to make sense.

You again question why you have lost a) every last shred of your dignity b) all your possessions (material and financial) and c) the will to live.

It often raises some profound philosophical questions, such as why you choose spend a good portion of your student life in what is, for all intents and purposes, a bear-pit.

It also, unfortunately, leads to amnesia, because somehow, as your pounding headache and nausea fades, so do your resolutions. Inevitably, next Friday morning you find yourself once again vomiting into a saucepan as you attempt to make breakfast.

A common affliction for all Bristol students. You are never not hung-over. All drinks are hair of the dog. Nothing eases the continual anxiety and the slight headache – except maybe more booze.

You are always hungry, tired, feeling little bit sick. You can’t remember what its like to wake up without wanting to die.

You like to think of yourself as glamorous in a troubled, heroin-chic, Withnail-esque sort of way. In reality you simply look like shit, constantly.

Your face is all puffed up and ruddy in that boozy, Donervan-induced way. Your hair is lank, your skin sallow. Your liver actually hurts as you shuffle into the Highbury Vaults.

You can also consume unquantifiable amounts without actually getting drunk, instead becoming marginally more loutish than you already are. A truly joyless state.

Photo: Oooh Oooh (Flickr)

Mate…enough said. Now go away and let me lie down in peace.