I hope this finds you rude with health and feeling bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, which is not like Lisa Grant is feeling in today’s snippet from Just Say It!  She has recently moved to London and is sharing a flat in Notting Hill with two school friends. Here, she wakes up the morning after her twenty-first birthday, suffering from the KATZENJAMMER to end all KATZENJAMMERS.  Have you been there?  I have! 3 minute 40 second read.

9TH OCTOBER 1980 -The sun streamed through the large sash window of Lisa’s bedroom. She blinked her eyelids open then batted them shut again, overwhelmed by the brilliance of the sun’s rays, having forgotten to close the curtains before falling into bed.

Outside a pigeon flapped its wings before, bursting in an ear-splitting, coo roo-c’too-coo. Lisa clamped her pillow over her ears, trying to blot out the din. Moving her head from side to side, she attempted to alleviate the pressure from the one-ton weight perched on top of her head. It didn’t work.

Her tongue cautiously ventured out between her lips, then snapped back again, viper-like, into her mouth.  It tasted like the bottom of a budgie’s cage, long overdue a clean. The fuzziness in her head cleared for a split second as she squeezed out the thought, never, ever, again.

She checked to make sure she was still wearing the necklace, bracelet and earrings her father had given her for her 21st birthday present. Relieved to find that she was, she ran her hands down her hot, clammy naked body, before resting her palms on her stomach. A cacophony of gastric rumblings in the pit of her stomach was competing with the sound of shallow breathing. She took a deep breath, holding it for a moment, as the sound of shallow breathing continued. She was not alone. A cacophony of gastric rumblings in the pit of her stomach was competing with the sound of shallow breathing. She took a deep breath, holding it for a moment, as the sound of shallow breathing continued. She was not alone.

The rumblings in her stomach became louder, blasting an acidic liquid fountain up her oesophagus and into her throat. Clasping a hand to her mouth, she leapt out of bed and rushed to the bathroom, to find the door locked. The sound of strangled retching coming from inside.

Instinct triggered Plan B, a wild uncoordinated dash for the kitchen just in time to throw up in the sink. Hanging on with both hands, eyeballing the plughole, she watched what smelt like neat alcohol dribbling down the plughole before her diaphragm started to heave again in preparation for the next retch.

‘Nice arse!’ Her head jolted out of the sink and spun around. Connie’s boyfriend, Danny, was sitting at the kitchen table with a broad smile on his face and what looked like a full English breakfast in front of him. His eyes stretched open, scanning her breasts. ‘Nice tits too and,’ he started to lower his gaze, as Lisa swivelled around again, grabbing a tea towel to cover up her nice arse. The smell of the food was too much. Craning her neck over the sink, she was violently sick one more time, before sidling out of the room.

‘Don’t worry! I will clear up after you! I’ve been doing the same for Connie since midday. It’s four o’clock now by the way… just in case you had plans.’

Vulnerable in her nakedness, she scampered back across the sitting room to the sanctuary of her bedroom. She couldn’t quite remember who had come back with them from Fanny’s Bistro. She caught a glimpse of Henry and Charles, wrapped around each other on the sofa fully clothed. A nasty bruise had appeared on Henry’s left cheek, which quivered slightly every time he exhaled through his mouth. Connie’s Spandex trousers with their ripped back seam were dangling from the old chandelier, prompting the memory of playing Twister after they got back.

Making it back to the safety of her bedroom, she shut the door firmly behind her. Leaning against it with her hands flat against the smooth wood, she breathed a sigh of relief, while mumbling nice arse, bloody Danny! But her attention soon shifted as somebody exhaled deeply in her bed. The sheet was pulled up over their face. Her brain went into overdrive. Who came back to the flat from Fanny’s? She scanned the room. Pages of her manuscript, They Always Look at the Mother First, were strewn all over the floor like giant confetti. What on earth had possessed her to throw her hard work all over the place? Her expensive dress was in a ball on top of her typewriter. Her strapless bra and very brief bikini briefs were strewn at opposite ends the room. But there were no other tell-tale items of discarded clothing that might jog her memory of who she had just spent the night with.

Squeezing out a small amount of functioning cognitive recall, she remembered that six of them left the flat to go to Fanny’s and eight had returned. Adele and Mike would be tucked up together, Connie was throwing up in the bathroom, and Danny was playing voyeur in the kitchen. The two blond bombshells were curled up the sofa, which just left herself and…

There was a rustling sound and movement from under the sheets, as two hands made a grab at the bedclothes. The knuckles of one hand were severely bruised. The light-bulb moment. Of course, it was black and blue, having punched both Jeremy and Henry. A mass of black curls slowly emerged, followed by two enormous, Bambi-esque eyes, a totally shameless smile, framed with a little soft-looking stubble. Instinctively, Lisa grabbed a couple of pages of her manuscript, covering her nether regions and her breasts, as Jack laughed. ‘Shit, Lisa! That was one hell of a party!’