I'm Luke McGinty, And That's Why I Drink

Well ladies, how was it? You know what I’m talking about. Did anybody get unsatisfactorily boned by some Phones4U-haired dolt who reckons a fancy, ideas above his station meal out entitles him to grope ineptly at you and slobber for all of about five minutes? Or are you part of the Notebook DVD, pissed on red wine, weeping into your Haagen-Dazs set? Either way, I truly do not care. I shouldn’t have to tell you people how much bullshit Valentine’s Day is so we’re not going to bother with it. Instead, we’re talking about a subject much more appropriate to your poor unfortunate narrator’s situation: hangover cures! What they are, why they’re bullshit, and what they can do for you!

We’ll begin with a classic - the full cooked. This is a massive error; I think whoever decided that a full cooked was a good idea on top of your already churning gut must have been fully cooked when they came up with this gem. You’re gonna feel badly sick, the scent will haunt you and your inevitable massive shit is gonna smell horrific and be browner and stickier than the picture of Rihanna I keep under the mattress. A big dine is a necessity mind you, but you’ve got to save it til later in the day. Start with something simple, something like…

Shitting - Alright it’s not a cure per sé, but a decent shit early on always works out well. And let’s face it, most of the time you don’t have many options as far as this one’s concerned do you?

Drinking - Here’s something: in the Dark Ages people believed that if a dog bit you, the way to ward off the evil spirits (i.e. rabies) that it cursed you with was to take some of that same dog’s hair and rub it on the wound. Hence “hair of the dog.” Anyway, this can go well or it can go really sour. (I'm talking about drinking, not dog hair rubbing. That never goes well, believe me...) The important thing here is to have the mental and physical fortitude to push on through how bad you’re gonna feel during and immediately after the first couple. After that you should stop feeling hung over and start to feel pissed again. Depending on circumstances this can work in your favour or against you. The trouble is, again it’s not really a cure, more of a diversionary tactic; which is usually a good thing. If you want to feel better you have to do something to focus your attention and take your mind off the miniature oompah band who seem to be playing a sold-out residency inside your head, something like…

Wanking - Sorry to be crude, but it fucking works.

Action - Maybe you noticed a theme with the rest of the entries on the list. That’s right, none of them really work to completely cure a hangover. In my experience only one thing does, and that’s action. If you’ve got a job to go to that‘s nectar, go to work. If not, get up and do fucking anything. I mean it, set an alarm, wake up and set about yourself. Don’t mope around, don’t even consider staying in bed and you’ll feel like fucking dynamite, I promise.

Ok this is boring so it’s tangent time. I got the idea to write this when someone mentioned El Barrio to me a few days ago. El Barrio is a Mexican themed bar on Edinburgh’s prestigious Rose Street and it provided the set-up for one of the worst hangovers I’ve ever had, which commenced with me coming to in the morning naked as the day I was born, save for a neckerchief which curiously didn't feature in my night's attire. Very strange, somewhat confusing. The story of that night and morning after, though, is fucking hilarious, and is one of my favourites. Let's watch on…

So me and a few people went out and found ourselves in El Barrio and we got, not too put too fine a point on it, fucking mortal.* This was during Edinburgh’s prestigious International Festival so it was pretty busy everywhere. Erroneous, I’m just putting you in the picture. Well when we got home myself and my two friends Birdseed and Delaney suddenly realised it was imperative we immediately remove our clothes and take to the back green. The logic, if memory serves, was that it was raining. So there we were: three men in my block’s communal garden, naked and shouting at the night sky. But it doesn’t get funny until the next morning, when Delaney had to go out and tend to the potatoes he was growing out in the garden at the time . My insane neighbour, who we’ve discussed before, was out in her garden too, taking care of some sort of business. “Oh, morning Delaney. I didn’t see you there. How are you today?” she says over the fence. Now Delaney’s not keen for a conversation as you can imagine, but he’s got manners so he’s got to respond. “Not too bad. I didn’t sleep well last night so I’m afraid I’m a bit off this morning.” Here’s where the story turns. The neighbour says “I’ll tell you what, I’m in the same boat, had a terrible night’s sleep. And I had the strangest dream…” “Oh yeah?” says Delaney, beginning to worry. “Yeah, I thought I was looking out my window, and the drying green was full of people, and they were naked having a party…”

Well. Suffice to say Delaney excused himself from his potatoes and exited that scene quick-time. What a story though. Alright I am far too tired to write anything that’s in any way coherent so I’ll wrap this up.

…Alright if you insist; Valentine’s Day. Twist my arm, why don’t you? What about that scenario I mentioned earlier? That old cliché with the lonely single woman fending off her depression with high-fat content foods and sloth. I’m moved to ask the question, is that the right way to go about things? Let’s have a think about why you might be single in the first place. We’ll just brainstorm for a moment. See, if you want my advice, try making salads and mineral water your comfort foods, instead of all that ice-cream and so on. Just a thought, you might have a bit more success in the love game that way. You ugly fat bitch.

Ok, probably best if we leave it there. I’m back tomorrow.





*Here are just a few of my favourite euphemisms for drunk: singing hymns, well refreshed, done-in, sunk, cooked (or any derivatives thereof - roasted, boiled, fried, poached, well done, medium rare, char-grilled, oven-baked, pan-seared, you get the idea...)