waider | Hangover Cause

So basically the reason I spent the whole day lying on the couch feeling like miniature gerbils were doing a clog dance on my brane in spiky shoes is that yesterday was Bill the Barman's birthday. I'd picked this up in much the same way as I pick up barstaff names: sitting at the bar with a pint in one hand, a book in the other, and both ears open. So I wished Bill a happy birthday from behind my book ("Immortality, Inc.", by Robert Sheckley), for which he thanked me and asked me to come along with them later. At closing time, he comped me a beer; only a half, since I refused a pint on the grounds that I'd already had several and didn't want to keel over before the night was out. So then we got a taxi to Dun Laoghaire, where they comped us into the nightclub, and Colin the Other Barman bought me a couple of brewskis as well. Then we went back to Bill's place, and at that point I was pretty much cooked, made my goodbyes and staggered the half-mile or so home. To be honest, I didn't have enough drink to merit the size of the hangover, but the fact that I switched to Heinken in the club and chugged at least half a bottle because it was time to go may have been a contributory factor. Anyway. A good night, and I was introduced to the barman of another bar in Dalkey which introduction I may have nefarious uses for. Muahahha.