Grolsched!

Well, it seems like the spirit of transatlantic telepathy is going strong, as I have ended my weekend in the exact same sorry state as Phut.

Yes, thats right - I am Grolsched. This is when you have drunk too much of the silver canned lager in the previous 24 hours. It's not like a normal hangover, oh no - they're easy to deal with. This is more like living embalmment, it feels like every ounce of liquid has been sucked out through your pores and your internal organs have been done over with a tenderizer. I am feeling very lucky that I do not have have to drive to Calais tonight so I can drink lots of water and relax.

My weekend was pretty standard - went to the girlfriends old flat to remove some furniture to chez nous, and actually ended up just talking to the neighbours for a while before hightailing it back home to settle in our normal outside table at the local bar. In retrospect, this was where my problems started, as I don't recall breathing air after that - only wine, lager and Jack.

I managed to raise my level of awareness briefly on Sunday to go out shopping for a while, but managed to stand my ground when it came to the suggestion of "popping into Ikea for a while", which we all know is not possible. I will lament Ikea in a future post.

Back home and thats when the serious drinking started. It finished at 6am this morning when I ran out of lager. Both unfortunate and highly fortunate I think, as it forced me to go to bed.