The morning after

I'm suffering.

I'm sat in the office, holding on to the desk because it's the only thing stopping the room spinning out of control, and also trying not to blink to much because it's way too loud. If you're going to have a hangover, the office is really not the place to be. If you must be in the office, you'd better hope your office is not right under the Heathrow flight path. I swear they're coming in lower today on purpose.

Although I'm still piecing together last nights events from a collection of hazy memories, stories recounted by others, and photographic evidence on mobile phones, here is what I've got so far:

On the drive from the office to Windsor, I announced two things: "I won't drink too much, as I don't want to feel like the living dead the next morning, and I won't be going to a nightclub after the boat ride, for similar reasons". Much like so many New Year resolutions of the past, I really believed I would stick to these simple rules.

So after dropping things off at the B&B, and grabbing a quick pizza on the way, we gathered with the crowd, ready to board the boat. But something was wrong. These people were smartly dressed, and were not telling crude jokes. After a few minutes, and some strange looks from people I didn't remember seeing round the office before, it became apparent that these were not the people we worked with.

After finding the right boat, we jumped on, tapped some of the managers for free drinks and gathered on the deck. It was not until we'd made it a reasonable distance from the dock that they started playing Rick Astley and other cheesy 80's music, and now the only escape was diving overboard and swimming for it. Of course, there was one other escape; just maybe, if we had enough to drink, it might become bearable. The first part of my vow was already breaking down.

So after a couple of beers to warm up, I decided to "take it easy" by switching to whisky. Honestly, I last a long longer on the whisky than the beer, or at least that's what I've convinced myself. And so, after the fifth whisky, things were definitely getting going, especially after pressuring the DJ into playing some Queen, which never fails to get a reaction from our group, much to the dismay of the others on the boat.

The rest of the trip was fairly uneventful, with just the usual mix of drinking and dancing, and by the time we arrived back at the dock, we'd successfully cleared most of the supplies of booze on the boat, leaving us with a sense of achievement and the inability to walk. It became clear that most people were not ready to call it a night yet though, and since I was sharing a room with two other guys from the office, one of which is my manager, I had to pretty much go with the flow. The following conversation decided the next step for the evening:

Friend: Club?

Me: Nuhhhh

Friend: Yehhhhh

Me: Uhhhhh

Friend: Yehhhhh!

Me: Yehhhhh

And so with this eloquent exchange, the last of the promises to myself was shattered.

We got to the club, and decided to switch back to the beers, because nothing was going to save us from the hangover now, and headed over to the dance floor, to dance in ways that would probably embarrass my parents. That was until a few minutes later when a bouncer came over to my friend and told him to stop dancing, as he'd been whipping everyone behind him with his hair (which is a close to half a meter, despite our best efforts to make him cut it). Of course, being asked to stop dancing on the dancefloor of a nightclub seemed highly amusing to us at the time, but as the bouncer didn't seem to share our amusement, so it seemed like the right time to move on to another club.

The next one was no better than the first, but since we didn't want to pay to get into another club, we decided to stick with it. More drinking, more dancing, and they seemed a little more accommodating about someone with a whirlwind of hair thrashing around on the dancefloor.

I don't really remember much after this, apart from trying to find our way back to the B&B, randomly trying a few doors once inside until one opened and happened to have our stuff in it, and listening to my friend having some colorful conversations with the toilet throughout the night.

So while I may be sitting here, vowing never to drink again, and trying to dispel the image of my manager walking round the bedroom in underwear, farting, I still consider it to be a pretty successful night out!

Now, if I can just get this desk to stop moving....