Tour de Hangover

On Friday night we had our annual summer party for work - pirate-themed this time. I had a fantastic time - from what I remember. Because I seem to have forgotten that my liver is into its fourth decade, and I went to town with the open bar. So did just about everyone else, which means I probably didn't embarrass myself too badly. However, I have not been so staggeringly drunk for over ten years. And I didn't handle it nearly as well as I could ten years ago. The night of the party was fine, but I went to bed still seeing two of everything, and woke up about seven hours later with the room spinning in a most gut-wrenching fashion. And then I was suddenly, violently ill. I took water and Gravol, and twice more was ill. And the headache - my god, the headache. I quite literally wanted to die. I was severely dehydrated and couldn't keep water down, so naturally I figured there was something seriously wrong with me. Jeff was characteristically unsympathetic.
"Maybe that wine had gone off!"
"It's called a hangover."
"I think I have food poisoning!"
"It's called a hangover."
"What does botulism feel like?"
"You have a hangover."
"I must have caught a virus."
"Hangover."
"Parasite."
"Hangover."
"Liver disease."
"Hangover." [etc. etc.]
I was particularly upset because we were supposed to meet friends to go into London to watch the Tour de France (which started in London this year and after two days has just crossed the channel to France, where it resumes tomorrow). I missed the train and went to bed, hoping against hope that my third dose of Gravol and water would stay down. And miraculously, an hour and a half later I felt just barely well enough to stand unassisted, though not well enough to eat, and we headed to London after all. I was able to find our friends in Hyde Park, but it was a real endurance test as I felt like crap and apparently looked like crap too ("paler than I thought possible" according to one friend, though they were all very kind and refrained from teasing me too much).
I'm glad I rallied. It was fun to get the Tour experience in person as I've followed it on TV for years now. The riders really hoof it in the time trials of course, especially as this was basically a sprint (a mere 7.9 km!). That was the coolest part - appreciating just how fast they can go when you're standing stationary beside the track. You don't get a sense of that from watching it on TV. We had to listen for the crowds cheering and the engine of the motorcycle that rides in front of each rider, and then WHOOSH! the rider flies past in a blur, followed by his team car. It was awesome. I took many useless photos of the motorcycle before the rider and the team car after because it was so hard to time it to get the rider himself before he was gone in a flash. But eventually I managed a couple.



After that - because I wasn't the only one with a hangover, just the one in the worst shape - we sat in the sun and watched the riders reaching the finish line on the big screen. That part was lovely.

Everyone was cheering for Brits Bradley Wiggins (a Londoner; the route apparently went past his mum's house) and David Millar, who placed 4th and 9th in the trials respectively (and after today's stage sit in 3rd and 5th places). But whenever anyone posted a new top time there were appreciative cheers. Considering that Britain isn't regarded as a big cycling nation - not by European standards at least - it was heartening to see how many people came out. And the weather this weekend was glorious compared to the long, long spate of rain, high winds and hailstorms that we've had.
Today I am mostly recovered (except for a bruised foot which I suspect is from another enthusiastic pirate-garbed person stomping on it on the dance floor). And I've decided that drinking is like riding a bicycle - best to get right back on after a fall. So I had a Pimm's and lemonade at a beer garden this afternoon. But just one.