Not quite, but almost.
It is Monday, and I am at work with an unfamiliar feeling – the two day hangover. Saturday was my Stag party. I know it finished around dawn. I’m just can’t seem to remember how. Or why.
In 6 days I will be married. It is fair to assume that my hangover will pass well before then. Ready to return the day after.
The Hen’s night, by contrast, was an expectedly tame affair. Half the girls were either pregnant or breast feeding. Chocolate and rude toys will only get you so far. It takes a stiff drink (or 10) to finish the job.
All night benders are definitely a young man’s game. And more than that, a young, childless man’s game.
On Sunday morning I was booked for 11am to attend the 2 year birthday of my godson, Gus, over from London with his mum and dad (one of my groomsmen). By cruel twist of fate, it was also daylight savings, so in real person time, the party started at 10am.
I have, in the past, shown some spectacular skills when it comes to meeting obligations in the face of self inflicted adversity. But it is a skill that withers without practise. And man, when you are in love, you get very little practise.
Hanging out with 100-mile-an-hour 2 yo Gus for a couple of hours the day after my Stag party did learn me one thing – kids and hangovers do not mix. Ever.
I was, at least, able to leave him in the early afternoon to lie on the couch for 3 hours with a bag of frozen peas on my face, sobbing. In just less than 6months time, I won’t have that luxury.
If all accounts are to be believed, it is unlikely that I’ll be able to stay up beyond 9pm anyway. So I may have nothing to worry about.
