The Hangover of 1985

Like two rusty hinges my eyelids creaked open, the pale morning light seared my eyes, the banging I heard was the sound of my heart and the gurgling, my stomach's hushed cries. I knew it would prove as I started to move every motion would be one big mistake and my brain and my mind (which was lagging behind) were both wishing I wasn't awake. Keeping my head quite level, I rose from the bed balancing with my arms open wide, to stop what felt like a hot cast iron ball in my head banging from side to side. Tongue was dry, throat was thick and now feeling quite sick, slowly bent for my slippers, to find one had hid on its own under a Traffic cone and the other had kebab inside. Made it out to the bathroom and slumped by the sink, the mirror held my other me, ten rounds with Mike Tyson, face green, and I think who on earth could that possibly be? The phone started nagging, my shoulders were sagging, I stumbled back out of the shower, my mate asked where I was, since he's down at the pub- I said I'd be there in an hour.