Revolving around late nights.
There are times I hate Ireland and today is actually one of them. It’s the assumption that when you go out to meet people, it’s normal that they’ll write off half the following day because you stay until some crazy hour.
I can remember, some years ago, going to a hen party and bailing at around 1 or 2 am – which is way late for me anyway – so that I could get up the following morning to go surfing. I live in Dublin. Surfing is not something I get a regular chance to do. Everyone else thought I was nuts to get up to go surfing, into the cold wet sea. None of them had ever surfed before. I don’t think any of them have tried since. Anyway, when I got back up from the surfing, a few of them had surfaced enough to go to the hotel to get coffee where they do a roaring trade in post-surf hot chocolate (in my experience) so I met them there. They were all utterly shattered, completely hungover, and complaining about how tired they were. I must have been their worst nightmare because I’d just be surfing, along with how utterly great that makes me feel – just the pure wave catching action, even if I fall off the board immediately, changes my life – and I was in great form. Plus, I wasn’t hungover because I hadn’t been drinking because I knew I was getting up early to go surfing.
I know people who regret their hangovers. But no hangover is without an element of choice.
I was out late last night. Not too late – something like 1.15 when I got home. But I was tired, and I am still, this morning, very tired and I’m not running on all cylinders at all. I knew this would happen but occasionally my life does crash into people for whom socialising means going out for a drink and staying out late. But that whole scene slows me down a lot and I really don’t like it. I remember when I lived in Belgium, it didn’t really happen all that much. You want out at a reasonable hour, like around 8, and you were at home at a reasonable time – 11 or say 12 at the outside. And you got a lot more done. I went swimming and skating on Saturday or Sunday mornings, I read a lot more, I did a lot more cooking, a lot more shopping. I got far more done in my life rather than recovering because I’m so shattered. And this is pure tiredness – I wasn’t drinking so I don’t even have a hangover to contend with.
I don’t know. I need coffee right now. Maybe it will all be a bit clearer after breakfast.


