Saturday, 14 June 2008

Very poor hangover cures devised by my children today

Putting a large defecating snail on my mouse (computer, not yet another pet). A mouse coloured, camouflage snail.

Enlisting me to locate and listen to several hundred different varieties of the Pokemon theme tune on Youtube until I could feel my ears starting to bleed.

Making me handle ketchup repeatedly until I started retching.

Repeating my name at ever increasing volume and shrillness, oblivious to any attempts I made to reply, until the noise was reminiscent of the CFO's new cat deterrent machine. Not being able to remember why they were calling me when I crawl up three flights of stairs moaning gently to respond.

Leaving a length of cable stretched across the room for me to trip over, landing on my knees and breaking an enormous tea cup into a million razor sharp shards.

Giving me a bemused glance as I lay prostrate and cursing in a pool of cold tea and going straight back to fighting over strident games on the computer. My computer. That they have hijacked and will not give me back to self-medicate with large doses of internet therapy. "It's ok darlings, I'm FINE, my knees just hurt a bit, don't worry, I'll get up very soon. Just as soon as I can move" I said in my rah rah middle class mummy voice that makes me want to beat myself senseless. To a roomful of total indifference. At this moment I had an avant-gout of my not-so distant future in their lives as a hystrionic irrelevance.

Weeing all over me when my coordination and zizi holding abilities let me down in delightful, oh so hangover friendly, fluorescent fast food venue Quick.

Detecting with their bat-like hearing the very second I sat down in a convenient and dark cupboard with a can of Coke and a blanket, and engineering a bad falling downstairs episode, complete with wounds and recriminations.

But about twenty minutes ago as I was sitting hunched on the sofa wondering how it could possibly only be 5pm and hoping that a family sized box of matches and a can of kerosene would keep them out of trouble for thirty seconds, a small but long fingered paw (on its way from one domestic atrocity to another) came and slid itself up my pee-stained sleeve to give me a small pat. And that was nice.


La Belette Rouge said...

My favorite cure involves a coca-cola slurpy. Your children's cures are cures only in that they may tempt you to drink more and that may make you feel better.

Jaywalker said...

Coucou Belette,
Drinking more does indeed ofhen help, but it's really only delaying the inevitable, isn't it...
If shouting like a demented harpy cured hangovers I would never suffer.

emily said...

oooh, that sounds painful.

My hangover cure is full fat coke - a pint of it with ice and a straw and a bacon sandwich. To be eaten whilst lying horizontally and watching david attenborough. Maybe you could get your children to enjoy wildlife programmes? Seriously his voice is so soothing! :)

Jaywalker said...

Hi Emily

Mmm, sounds rather perfect. Can you come round and administer to me? Actually a love of Sir David is one of the few things that holds the Jaywalker clan together. Forget the knighthood, the man should be canonised.

The snake eating the buffalo from Life in Cold Blood is a (predictable) big favourite, though perhaps not ideal hangover fodder.

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