The Run of Penance

Our ‘great nation’ is a bit on the boozy side don’t you think?

We work hard during the week to earn a living, we work to be rewarded at the end by an exciting Friday evening and wholesome, relaxing weekend.

Instead, come Friday, we fritter away half our wage on alcohol and spend the rest of the weekend clutching our abdomens in severe regret.

Of course this isn’t everyone. At least half of my readers won’t relate to this at ALL. But for the other half  stuck in a boat with me, I guarantee you will understand “the clubbing cycle”.

Each person has a “clubbing cycle” and whilst they tend to vary in length, most will follow the same immovable laws:

Step 1: Someone/you suggest a night out – What a wonderful idea, an excuse to let our hair down and meet up with everyone again!

Step 2: Drink and go out – This is SO MUCH fun, we should do this more often… actually we should do this tomorrow night as well!

Step 3: The next morning – It’s pain and shame time! Pain because I can’t get out of bed else I might be declared dead on the spot… Shame because there’s bound to be something shameful I’ve forgotten about that I’m never going to live down… (OK that last one contains a bit of personal angst)

After a few occasions in the past I now just assume I’ve done something daft.

In short, “I’m never going to drink again” is possibly the most common lie told in the UK, along with “I’m only going out for one drink” – I’m seeing a theme here!

Then, after ‘X’ amount of time the cycle begins anew (can be from mere hours to months depending on the damage of the previous night).

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Look at that lousy *trucker (*replace with profanity)

My Penance Runs

Each time I go out I drive into town or to a friend’s house, leave it parked, then get a(n extortionate) taxi home at stupid hour.

This can be between 1 and 6 miles from my home, and since I only surface after midday, the house is usually empty.

Getting a bus would incur extra costs, and phoning my Mum is completely out the question. So instead of drowning in the existential dread which comes skipping merrily beside my hangovers I decide to sweat it out and jog to my car.

This has nothing to do with fitness, however my run of penance after a night out is self inflicted torture. These runs are shorter in distance than your usual jog, but by God do they take longer! Thing is… it goes some way towards counteracting the depressive properties of the previous night’s cocktail of poisons.

At University it was easier. Surrounded by other hanging souls you could provide support for each other and share incriminating stories. Alone at home, all I’m aware of is how much I must stink!

If you struggle with hang overs, I mean, firstly that’s completely your fault for drinking so much you British buffoon… but after all that, try going for a jog, or a swim. You’ll hate it, but it’ll make you feel better. Trust me.

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