Thursday, 6 September 2007

How NOT to cure a hangover

Ohhh, see how I posted yesterday - that was done before I left the house to defy the tube strikes and shop like there's no late night shopping. After that, it all got rather...messy.

I have to confess, I never did make it to Oxford Street. In fact, my journey went a bit more like this:

Left the house. Started to walk towards to the bus stop, realised I'd left my Oyster card at home so went back. Promptly threw up my toast. Checked - tube strikes are off. Great. Left the house again. Walked down to the station. Grouched at some work men who stopped, stared and 'Ahriiiiite' -ed me as I walked past "WHAT?! What are you looking at!". Got to the tube station. Boarded the train.

Just as the train left Wembley Park, I was not feeling too hot. Actually, that's a lie. I was burning up, feeling distinctly similar to how I'd felt 20 minutes before when my toast went down the toilet. Except this time my arms were going tingly, my heart was beating really fast and there was no toilet in sight. Hoh sh-it, thought I.

The train pulled into Finchley Road, and a very pale, dizzy and faint looking girl called Jo jumped off, raced up the stairs and headed towards the loos...guess what? As luck would have it, the damn things were closed. "Please, I'm feeling really sick...can I just use those toilets anyway?" "No, sorry love, they're blocked. You'll have to go to the O2 centre - out of here, turn left". Fuuuuuuuuuucccccckkk.

Off I went, my brain told me just to try and find the toilets myself instead of a) asking someone or b) looking at the sign in the entrance...this added another 5 minutes to my toilet expedition. Eventually I found them. The sickness had subsided. I went outside and sat on the steps, made a shaky call to the boyfriend whose birthday it was, and whose house I was heading to later that day. "I don't feeeeel very wellllll, can I just come to your work, get your keys and go to your house? I can't even shop, I feel that bad"

At this point, sickness returned and I shot back into the O2 centre, up the stairs, into the loos, and acquainted myself with the toilet bowl. Oh bladddy hell. Right, this means I have about half an hour before the next wave of sickness arrives, I reasoned, so I should get back on the train and get as far into town as possible. Yes. That is what I shall do.

One stop later and I'm at Baker Street , where the train terminates. Felt awful. Visited the toilets. Realised there was someone asleep on the floor in the end one (socks poking under the door). Spent ages at Baker Street trying to psyche myself up to get on another train. Jubilee line. Piccadilly line to Earls Court. Uh Oh, I'm on the platform and the waves of nausea are returning...people are looking at me like I'm mental...I crouch down on the platform and am sick into my mouth. Swallowing it down.

At this point, I really felt like crying. I felt so hideously awful and stupid because it was totally self inflicted, yet at the same time I was feeling so sorry for myself and just wanted the whole journey to end. The hour long journey took three hours in the end, and by the time I arrived at Boyfriend's work, he was finishing for the day. Needless to say I toasted his birthday with apple juice and have done slightly better today in the shopping stakes having spent the day on Oxford Street instead of in an London underground toilet.

Today was topped off with a Hoisin duck wrap from Pret and then a back, neck and shoulder massage in the local beauty salon. Tough day. I'm a martyr for my champagne cause.


Ella Rice said...

Lol funniest post ever, although I do feel your pain, embarassment, mortification etc lol. How do u know the toes poking out of the stall didn't belong to a dead person?

pink jellybaby said...

oh eee ick. i hate feeling ill when you have to travel.... although i think i do one better with once being sick ON oxford street :)

London-Lass said...

"Uh Oh, I'm on the platform and the waves of nausea are returning...people are looking at me like I'm mental...I crouch down on the platform and am sick into my mouth."

Christ alive. I once went through what you did (morning after very, very, heavy sesh the day before) although didnt actually end up throwing up. Congratulating myself on holding it together on leaving tube train, I suddenly discovered that the whole of the back of my clothes was drenched with morning-after-very -very-heavy-sesh-the-day-before sweat. Nice.

Miss Understood said...

Oh God. That must have been awful.

I have this terrible fear of throwing up anywhere other than my toilet. I HAVE to have a glass of water with me to gargle out the lumps in between each heave, so puking on a platform is a no-no for me, lol.

Hope you're feeling better.

Jo said...

ella - I could hear them moving about...I don't expect sleeping on the floor of a toilet cubicle is very comfortable. Weird place to kip though.

pjb - Yeah, you win on that one (if it was daytime sickness, night time is almost excusable)

londonlass- Oh god it was awful, I had a bit of a sweat on as well...I'm so surprised no one asked me if I was ok because I must have looked fucking weird. Actually, maybe thats why no one asked.

miss understood - Its happened a few times in the last couple of years, like being sick in public, and I now have a real paranoia of it. I think it's actually more the worry about being sick which makes me sick half the time, if that makes sense!

the boy who likes to... said...

You couldnt even shop? Thats some serious sickness you had going on right there.

Glad your feeling better.

Did you learn a lesson from this?

Jo said...

Yeah - champagne should be consumed before going to the pub, not after.

China Blue said...

I actually feel nauseous after reading that!

There was this one time I'd had way too much and was sick on a train platform. Mile End, to be precise. I got off the Central Line, was sick beside a pillar, then was at the other end of the platform before a train load of District Line passengers got off. Poor the passengers who saw what I'd left behind :-(


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