The salty hangover

I awoke this morning with something I haven’t knowingly experienced before. I have experienced it, as… well, I just clearly have. There’s no way I haven’t. The more I think about it, the more I realise that yes, I did experience it but I always ignored it, didn’t notice it or it just didn’t generally register because I felt so shitty all the time anyway.

The pizza hangover.

I did not drink yesterday. It’s why I’m so thirsty all the time (copyright Rik Mayall). But I had no booze. I had some coffee, some tea, some Diet Coke (sorry), but no alcohol. I had a pizza, as I had forgotten to bother cooking (Skyrim) and Papa John’s had mailed me some stupid offer (marketing works).

I had a massive pizza.

I have been eating healthily for the last year – at least in general. I have lost over three stone. I do not now have takeaway three nights running, as I might have done on more than one occasion in Leeds. And Preston. And Manchester.

And Bournemouth.

As such, I have been what some might call ‘reasonably healthy-feeling’, to the point where it’s just normal to feel normal now. Eating a full pizza to yourself, apparently, has some negative effects come morning time.

I awoke feeling genuinely like I had hangover, sans-nausea. The incredibly dry mouth, the painful head, the lack of balance (less hangover, more natural Dransfield) – it all pointed to a night on the tiles.

But it was just a pizza. A mere (massive) pizza (also some potato wedges because SHUT UP THAT’S WHY).

To be honest, it’s done quite a good job of convincing me to not do that again. I mean, if they make you feel like that just by eating one, what the fuck is in them? Pizza people: start lacing your food with something like heroin and we can talk again.

For now? I’m off them. Until next time I go to Leeds and get a Cano, obviously.

0 of 14 catch up entries to go. Thank fuck.

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