In the interests of a newly acquired concern with honesty, I should state that this particular morning after happened sometime In The Past and is not a recent event. I do not live like this any more. At all. Nope.

2.15pm Wake from a dream in which I'm teaching a class full of My Little Ponies how to make Yorkshire pudding from duct tape and snake hand gingerly out from the covers to take hold of the glass of water on the bedside table. Take one sip, retch and hurriedly replace. Gin and tap water.

2.30pm Lie perfectly still and concentrate ferociously on Paul Newman with his shirt undone in an attempt to stave off nausea. It doesn't work.

2.55pm Put on sunglasses and hop to the bathroom (ankle pain of mysterious origin) to be sick but am distracted by the sight of myself in the bathroom mirror. Top half of my face is strewn with mysterious thick black gooey substance. After thorough dissection with tweezers conclude that it is eyeliner mixed with false eyelash glue. But I am no longer wearing false eyelashes. Where have the eyelashes gone?

3.35pm On the way back from the bathroom stop for drink and find mobile phone in ice box.

4.25pm Use energy gained from breakfast (half a block of Wensleydale, three ibuprofen and a week old chocolate éclair) to examine contents of bag from last night. Things that I now appear to own but which were not in my possession when I left the house include:
One helium balloon, round and blue with 'It's A Boy!' printed on it
One business card, male owner, gives job title as 'Management Consultant' (ugh, I couldn't)
Two Chinese calenders, red and gold, two years out of date
A bag and a half of foam shrimps
One receipt for a plastic tiara (but no tiara)
Seven choice examples of the phone box calling card art
One business card, male owner, with 'Don't do it, he has a moustache' scrawled on the back in my writing
A bruise on my left thigh in the exact shape of Australia

5.05pm En route to the living room with duvet when progress is interrupted by the discovery of a huge and terrifyingly exotic species of bug on carpet. Grab nearest weapon in horror (which unfortunately happens to be half a carton of now completely defrosted ice cream) and use last of remaining strength to thrash it enthusiastically to death.

5.45pm Stop beating when convinced all life is extinguished. Peer to examine supine corpse of curious glittering insect, possibly previously unknown to man, now lying flattened on hall floor. Have found false eyelashes.

6.20pm Text message from friend as I'm wiping down the walls; did I realise she has one of my shoes and would I like it back?

7.10pm Go to bed with the remaining melted ice cream and straw.

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