The hangover

OK, drinking two flutes of champagne, two glasses of rose and a glass (or maybe two) of white wine the night before a 4am hotel wake-up call for a 7am flight from Singapore to Sydney probably wasn’t the smartest move I’ve ever made. But it was the last night of our holiday, we were celebrating with friends, the booze was French … Well, it was fun at the time. Not so much at 1am when I woke up with a crashing headache and deep anxiety about the alarm and the hotel wake-up call both failing. And so I lay there for the next three hours, nursing my headache (holiday Panadol supplies gone) and fretting. By the time we made our way to the hotel front desk to check-out at 5.45am (argh! late!) I was verging on hysterical. Not the best state of mind for arguing a hotel bill. Husband eventually told me to wait in the cab. Terrifying trip to the airport finally ensued as cab driver kept falling asleep at the wheel (signs included his foot easing off the accelerator every few minutes and cab veering into the next lane). As you do in these situations, Husband and I politely pretended nothing was happening and simply chose to conduct loud conversations with each other at regular (veering) intervals. Cab driver was very nice and apologetic about it all when we arrived at the airport and he woke up. After clearing customs, Husband headed to the food court, I croaked “Diet Coke” at him and went in search of a pharmacy, head throbbing, stomach churning, eyes blood-shot. Headache tablets worked their magic and I felt almost human by the time we boarded the plane. Eight hours later as we touched down in Sydney, not so much. Lots of turbulence, lots of crap movies on the inflight entertainment (Tree of Life is SUCH a bizarre wank). I NEVER want to leave Australia again. I HATE plane travel. Admittedly, I made some poor flight choices. I know now that catching a 1am flight from Singapore to Barcelona, spending 12 hours in the air, then jumping in a car and driving for six hours isn’t such a great idea. I know now that catching a 7pm flight back to Singapore from Barcelona will lead to the whole family sleeping in until midday the next day, then lying wide-eyed in bed until 2am the night after that, then spending each day in between wandering around like zombies. And the best way for me to use that knowledge is to NEVER FLY AGAIN. But it’s early days, hopefully it’s like childbirth and I’ll eventually forget the pain and exhaustion and just look fondly at the photographs and say, “Let’s have another one!”.