Lost Property: Part 1 The Hangover

Morning light leaked insipidly through the gaps in the curtains, the pale sharp-edged white hinted at the cold lurking outside. An arm emerged from the sanctuary of the duvet and felt around blindly for the source of a hostile ringing noise. Failing in its mission, more of the body emerged into the cold “barley white” morning revealing Michelle in the company of one hell of a hangover.

Splitting open crust-sealed eyes Michelle looked around only to be reminded that in the spirit of drunken malice the night before, she had placed her alarm clock on the other side of the room. This left her with two equally unpleasant alternatives: she could leave the warm bed cocoon or she could put up with the continued clang of her alarm. Given its continued insistence that she get up, she opted for the former and moved with the grace of a semi-frozen, partially dead gazelle across her room where she violently took her frustration out on the rather noisy inanimate object that had insisted on torturing her. Once she was sure it was dead, she stood shivering in her rather dilapidated night shirt, not awake enough to make a quick decision regarding her next move.

As the wheels of her brain squeaked reluctantly into her action, she reached for her dressing gown. An annoying nagging voice squatting in the back of her mind reminded her that alcohol fuelled bitchiness had not been the only reason for the moving of the alarm clock. She look wistfully at the bed but the voice would not be quieted, pointedly reminding her that she had a meeting first thing at work and she could not afford to be late.

Dragging her hangover with her Michelle showered, brushed her teeth, and moisturised while she struggled to maintain a state of out-of-body numbness. She jabbed contact lenses that felt like they’d soaked in acid over-night, into her angry, red eyes. Blinking blearily around the bathroom the full scale of her hangover finally hit. She was in a world of pain and her body was screaming for water. Guzzling rusty tasting water directly from the tap did very little to alleviate her raging thirst. This was going to be a truly shitty day.

Once fully dressed, Michelle examined herself in the full length mirror. She wasn’t convinced the blue top went with the brown trousers, but she couldn’t find the energy to care, let alone change. She rubbed her eyes delicately and peered more closely at the mirror, it misted gently with her sour mint breath. She decided she must still be drunk because she looked positively blurry. It wasn’t just her red eyes, damp tangled hair or pale face that made her look the worse for wear. She felt and looked positively translucent. Surely she was imagining that she could see the books on the shelves directly behind her? The more she stared the more she realised that the words “Great Expectations” were aligned uncannily perfectly with her nose, or through her nose, or behind her nose..... Her mind balked as she tried to work out the relationship between Dickens’ book and her nose.

Closing her eyes and breathing slowly she decided to move on. No good was coming of her staring through herself in the mirror. Her mind was clearly playing tricks on her and she needed to pull herself together and brave the commute to work. Tardiness was not an option and London Transport waited for no man or woman or hangover.

To be continued......