A Nostalgic Hangover

A nostalgic hangover

So I’m currently sat on a slow (read; snail pace) moving train to London and I’ve taken an unnecessary dislike to the girl sat opposite me. I mean, it’s incredibly unfair but I’ve sorta hit a point in my day where I don’t really care about the fact that I’m being unreasonable.

The main reason I’ve taken against her is that she’s immaculate. Like immaculately dressed, immaculate hair, immaculate make-up. She also has a designer handbag and the latest iPhone.

These are not reasons to take against someone (sorry innocent stranger) but yours truly over here is sat in her sweatshirt and jeans with un-brushed hair, a lack of make-up, purple bags under her eyes and a general smell of alcohol and regret about her.

Sitting opposite Miss Immaculate being one of those regrets.

Ah hangovers.

Yeah okay, I’ll admit, I have drunk excessive amount of alcohol in the last few days. Some people might call it a 3 day bender but I won’t. I still have some of my dignity left (lol, what a lie).

G and I were in Mayfair (sticking out like a sore thumb I might add) on Thursday night for a friend’s art exhibition (not a sentence I say everyday) which somehow, despite saying we would just pop in for an hour or two, turned into being in a pub, swapping shoes with a guy I’d just met and a 1am train back home.

Then I had a friend’s leaving drinks on Friday where I swore I’d leave at a reasonable time and then suddenly it was half 1 and I was drunkenly cooking cheesy pasta.

And then I headed to Bristol on Saturday for a reunion with some uni friends. I didn’t even bother pretending that was going to be a quiet one which is a good job cos I was still awake come 4am.

I’ve had a ball. But, jesus, is my body protesting in a way it never used to.

I don’t really do this anymore. I mean, I do hangovers obviously; it’s no secret G and I love a good pub and sometimes spend a Saturday regretting that last glass of wine.

But I don’t do incapacitating hangovers. I don’t do 3 nights out in a row. I don’t do bars with thumping music. I don’t do all-nighters.

But I used to. Once upon a time, mainly as a student, I lived a very specific kind of lifestyle that regularly involved all of those things. Particularly the all-nighters.

I wouldn’t change my life now, not even a little bit. But when random circumstance throws a week like I’ve just had at me, I’m hit by this humungous wave of nostalgia and I get lost in memories of those people, those nights, the 19/20/21-year-old version of myself. I suddenly can’t quite work out when life became what it is now, when I became the person I am now. Five years is such a short space of time in the scheme of things but I’m fascinated by how much life and a person can change in that time.

It’s such a strange feeling because there’s not much you can do with it. There’s nothing to change or regret or mull over. I don’t want to go back or do things differently, but I wish I could have slowed those times down or perhaps relive that life just for a day. Because sure, it was a freakin’ unhealthy lifestyle, but it was pretty glorious all the same.

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