Well, there goes another one. This time it was the “I will never drink as much ever again” scenario which bit the dust when I fell off the sobriety wagon at yesterday’s office Christmas lunch. By the time I got to the main course, I knew there was no point in trying to reason with myself and shortly afterward, having received my Secret Santa gift, a wiggling, giggling all singing Santa hat with antlers, I knew I was beyond all hope.
There was a fine Pinot Grigio Rosé on offer and it would have been rude to refuse and it just kept on flowing.
I did manage to take my hangover Christmas shopping this morning and saw one of my work colleagues looking remarkably spritely considering she partied on until 11.30p.m. and a taxi deposited me back home around 6.30p.m. Mind you there is probably about 30 years between us which might account for her seemingly endless stamina.
According to the resident teenage oracle, who remembers everything, I was fine when I got home. However, after having had a bath I came downstairs in my pyjamas wearing my Secret Santa hat, singing Jingle Bells and dancing with Cassie the Blog Dog. “You were so funny!”. So just as well I came home when I did.
Anyway, my hair of the dog so far today has been a few tomato juices, heavily spiced with Worcester Sauce which has helped a bit. What a ridiculous metaphor hair of the dog is. According to Wikipedia the earliest known reference to the phrase “hair of the dog” in connection with drunkenness is found in a text from ancient Ugarit dating from the mid to late second millennium, in which the god ʾIlu becomes hungover after a drinking binge. The text includes a recipe for a salve to be applied to the god’s forehead, which consists of “hairs of a dog” and parts of an unknown plant mixed with olive oil.