Tales of a City Girl

The day after drinking – is it worth it anymore?

What’s the greatest cure for a hangover? Being under 25. I’m not even sure if this can still count as a joke to be honest – given the fact it’s true and not very funny.

Even though I was a lot more partial to a big night out in my youth (partially due to the fact I was on an Arts course so had about 3 contact hours a week, and you could buy a round for a tenner with change), I’d rarely get a proper hangover. I’d probably be a bit tired, but that would be it. I could play fast and loose with the concept of pre-drinking dinner, and mix my drinks like the world’s worst bartender (Vodkat, followed by Apple Sourz shots and orange VK, anyone?) and although I was often a complete nightmare by the end of the night, my day after was fresh and new.

Now? Well now if I try to drink more than say, three glasses of Prosecco, I am pretty much guaranteed to feel crap in the morning. I could ensure I have a proper pre-drinking dinner, eat when I get in, and swap to water before the end of the evening, and I’m still going to be curled in bed with the curtains closed until gone midday. Especially enjoyable when you can hear the birds tweeting outside and everyone on Facebook seems to be going for brunch or for cultural trips out.

Maybe it’s because I now drink a lot less often, so whenever I do drink it has more of an effect. But I don’t think I’m alone in this. My mates and I have gone from swapping tales of debauchery, to moaning about how unproductive we feel the day after drinking, and how we wish we had got home by 11.

We fantasise less about drinking cocktails, and more about our  post-drinking menu. I can keep myself happy in an Uber all the way home weighing up the pros and cons of crumpets vs hot cross buns as pre-bedtime snacks.

Does it bother me that I can’t keep up with lots of drinking anymore? For the most part, no, not really. I’d much rather spend £30 on a dinner than I would on booze. But occasionally it would be nice to be able to go out and have more than three or four drinks without feeling like a swamp monster the next day.  The way I’m going I’m going to turn into my Mum who gets misty-eyed after a pint and starts telling me about how precious it was holding her children for the first time – and this does not bode well for Ibiza 2016.