One down, one to go

I type in the front room of a n bedroom detached house in Bristol.

I feel...what are the words to describe that feeling the morning after a party when you wake up on a perfectly good futon that is still masquerading as a sofa, with the swelling overtones of a headache from the accidentally induced concussion from the night before's encounter with a low staircase ceiling and (as an afterthought) the beer, when you've accidentally gone to sleep with your contacts in so you're going to turn up at a blogger's Christmas party with red Christopher Lee eyes, and the feeling of relief that you are still alive and, contrary to all expectation and belief, breathing?

Ah yes - hungover. That'd be the word.

Looking forward to seeing all you chaps tonight. (Oh God - one hangover and I've started to blog like Biggles.)

Yes. See you chaps later, what?