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A Chilean red hangover August 26, 2010

Posted by normanmonkey in Blogging and social media, Friends, In the news.
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3 comments

I’m well versed in the tribulations of the hangover, but this one, quite frankly, takes the biscuit. More so because I didn’t see it coming. Then again, it’s been a week in which thirty-three Chilean miners stuck underground until Christmas was swiftly replaced on the news agenda by a cat in Coventry stuck in a wheelie bin overnight and neither the miners nor Lola the tabby saw that coming either.

Granted there had been personal training  just prior and the body had been twitchy after being abused at the hands of James Daly, personal trainer to the stars and Vernon Kay, plus the matter there hadn’t been a drop of alcohol in any shape for over a week (unlike the British Medical Council, I refuse to count the drinking of anything less than two large glasses of wine as alcohol consumption) There had been a Bloody Mary in the bar before dinner, a bottle of white, then a red. Now that’s a schoolboy error. Then espresso Martinis after dinner. Then back to mine for a nightcap with my dining companion. Come to think of it, that’s a perfect storm given those circumstances and that companion. It may’ve taken two hours of planning to lift the pillow from over my head, but I’m lucky to be alive and the house still standing.

All this has been made possible courtesy of a week off where the plan was to make positive strides toward fitness and rejuvenation. Things had been progressing nicely and this sudden burst of exercise during a week off work  is in no way related to being informed by a barmaid that Abbey Clancey is a regular at my Weybridge gym during the daytime.

There had been idealised plans of exchanging sweaty glances with Abbey and the promise to take her away from a gangly, unfaithful beau who earns £65,000 a week (spot which one of those three conditions is keeping Miss Clancey with Peter Crouch instead of a man with a QPR season ticket and hangover). Instead of skipping around with her, this morning’s torpor was my own Chilean mineshaft of misery, made only more tolerable that at least I was alone and not with thirty-three seriously pissed off miners.

Being stranded in a mineshaft until Christmas is certainly no laughing matter, but still infinitely preferable to  being stranded overground for five minutes in Coventry (ask the cat) or being stuck in a room with 33  iPad aficionados . Jesus, could you imagine being stranded with them until Christmas? It’d be bad enough being stranded in Las Vegas with them, let alone two kilometres underground. Especially as they wouldn’t be able to get reception. Living hell for all concerned.

Can an iPad get rid of my headache,  secure three points for the Rangers away on Saturday or permit me an introduction to Abbey Clancey? If not, I’m not interested so bugger off with your ‘future is now’. (An iPad can’t change my life, but sorting any of those three out would, even if only temporarily).

Perhaps we can arrange an exchange programme when the miners surface and let the public decide who from the UK should take their place. It;s exactly the sort of thing we need to give us a boost during ‘the current economic climate’ and would go down a storm with Channel Four.

With the iPad brigade, lets kick off members and fans of the bands The Young Knives or Scouting for Girls, Bob Crow, men who wear long trousers and sandals, anyone who gets excited when ‘Dancing in the Moonlight’ is played, people who call radio stations to ‘make a point’, Andy Gray and Richard Keys, those who say ‘moving forwards’ in any context whatsoever unless they actually are physically moving forwards and there is a reason we need to be informed of this (such as ‘I am in a car on the edge of a cliff and it is still moving forwards. Help’), anyone who calls themselves a ‘guru’ in their field (until recently gurus were restricted to Indians who simply spoke a load of mystic shit and drank their own piss, now everyone’s at it), football bores who talk about tactics and team selection who would like to be Andy Gray and Richard Keys, ‘fans’ of the Big Four who’ve never seen their team play (see how inter-related it all is – actually lets add in most football fans…), most football fans and all of those whom support Chelsea, Foursqaure users, people who ask loudly in restaurants ‘Is it organic?’, most of the PR industry, Jamie Oliver, Islamic fundamentalists, Christian fundamentalists, organic fundamentalists, fundamentalists full stop, Clapham public school rahs, anyone who has complained about the gazpacho soup being cold or been associated with those fucking Halifax ads, Englishmen in baseball caps, private members club members, users of unnecessary or multiple exclamation marks in punctuation, my hangover, xenophobes, obese people in sportswear, anyone in sportswear who isn’t in a gym, X-Factor hopefuls and anyone who has ever, ever referred to an experience as ‘a journey’ .

That’s just to kick-off and already that’s the majority of the UK population. Perhaps we should just bury the country two kilometres underground and be done with it. It’ll just be us left. I hope we remember the Anadin.

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