As I get older, my ability to handle alcohol, in respect for hangovers is getting steadily worse. I don’t drink regularly, so naturally my tolerance is lower than it has been—historically speaking. But, in the past, when five or six beers over the course of an evening would have me waking the next morning without much suffering, I find that even a couple pints find me with a hangover before the evening even ends, sometimes only a couple hours after drinking. I invariably have a hangover the next morning, but instead of being banished after a couple painkillers, coffee and really greasy food, the suffering persists for the entire day. Such is my situation this morning as I work hard at holding the couch down, mug of coffee clutched in a death-grip whilst visions of greasy vomit monkies dance through my head. Fun stuff.