The Hangover

The Hangover

They came downstairs one by one, rubbing their tired bleary eyes and gasping for water.

The kitchen reeked of red wine and there was broken glass all over the floor.

I had already seen my first flash of bum crack and it did not belong to my husband or my son.

The fleecy blanket that I like to snuggle up under on the sofa was being fashioned by someone as a toga.

A stairgate had been pulled from its hinges and was resting up against the toilet door.

A cheesecake still resting in its cake tin in the fridge was decorated with fork prints.

Twelve empty Quality Street wrappers were scattered all over the sofa.

One of them was sporting a fresh cut on his eyebrow and a black eye.

They all looked around the room, looked at each other and then looked to me and asked:

 What the hell happened last night?


We had invited 40 of our nearest and dearest over to celebrate the Greek God(zilla)’s birthday with us on Saturday afternoon.

It was a very informal gathering with lots of food, lots of kids, lots of cake and lots of laughs.

The Greek God(zilla) loves this day.

He does not have to do anything at all to prepare for it, just sit back and open his birthday cards and presents while eating sausages and drinking wine.

I did not have as much cooking to do this year as a few family members had kindly offered to bring a dish for the table, but I was still so busy making drinks, taking coats, reheating food, slicing cakes and finding clean spoons that the afternoon flew by in the blink of an eye.

A few hours later, when everyone with kids started to make a move home, I made a cup of tea and sat on the sofa to enjoy my first 10-minutes of quiet all day.

Zachy went to bed without a fight.  He was totally worn out from all the entertaining too.

I settled in on the sofa with my tea, a box of Quality Street and got ready for the X-Factor final.

Then I heard a kind of shreiking noise coming from the direction of the kitchen.  I could just about make out the words over the music that had incidentally just been cranked up to full volume.


I tiptoed down the corridor and there was the Greek God(zilla) with his sister BB and his mate Rob, dancing around the kitchen in the dark to Spandau Ballet.

How long had I been gone for??

I wish I could say that it ended there, but further renditions included Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic and Billie Jean.

I gave in to my tiredness and took myself off to bed as they headed out to the pub.

I am not sure what time it was when they all returned but I could make out from their conversations that there had been more dancing in the pub, which had resulted in applause from the other patrons.

There had been some kind of ‘incident’, which resulted in a black eye and “blood everywhere” (according to the Greek Godzilla) but on closer inspection really turned out to be only a few little drops…

Nobody could work out how to blow the electric airbed up despite sitting on it, kicking it and shouting at it… until BB’s other half walked in to the room and turned the plug switch to on.

There had been another incident in the kitchen, which resulted in a bottle of red wine falling off the worktop and spilling all over the floor… leading the Greek God(zilla) to repeat over and over again that “all I’ve done all day is tidy up…”

Eventually the house fell quiet and everyone was fast asleep.

But what felt like 5-minutes later, I heard the familiar wake-up call of “Mummy” coming from Zachy’s room

So I pulled back the duvet, threw on a jumper, stepped over the discarded stairgate and went downstairs.

It was the smell that hit me first.

Then as I switched on the light in the living room, a flash of pure white bum cheek hit me next.

I quickly retreated back upstairs where I asked the Greek God(zilla) to please help with this situation.

Zachy and I waited patiently on the stairs while Rob returned to his blow-up bed, wrapped only in my cosy sofa blanket to cover his nakedness.

He could not remember how he got there.

Now, if this was the movie The Hangover, then this would be the point where I pull out my camera and leave them to piece together the events of the night… but I couldn’t do that to them on here… could I?


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  1. December 10, 2012 / 8:53 PM

    Ooh I think you could, if you don’t mind sparing us the bum flasher. it must have been a himdinger corker of a day for you to bail out before it was over. Good for you. Your hubby is a lucky bloke!

    • Grenglish
      December 18, 2012 / 12:09 PM

      Oh my gosh, Anya, waking up to a white bum that you do not recognise is not the best way to start the day!

  2. December 12, 2012 / 9:41 PM

    This post had me in stitches – poor you – what a rank mess to wake up to – I wouldn’t have been best pleased. What is it with people when they get drunk and start singing 80’s numbers very badly indeed? And to top is all off – your cosy sofa blanket on Rob’s sweaty bum cheek – no! no! no!.

    Ps. I am glad James Arthur won the X Factor!

    • Grenglish
      December 18, 2012 / 12:08 PM

      Me too! I was nervous about that Christopher bloke… who was voting for him!
      The sofa blanket has now been washed and returned to its rightful place 🙂

  3. December 16, 2012 / 10:02 PM

    I want to come to your house!

    • Grenglish
      December 18, 2012 / 12:07 PM

      You are welcome anytime! Nobody leaves sober 🙂

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