I did something this year that I’ve never done before. I got absolutely smashed for Christmas.
What’s worse is that I didn’t even notice it happening. But looking back, (as much as my hungover brain will allow) it’s easy to see
How I got absolutely smashed.
Prosecco for breakfast
Christmas Day started off with our usual smoked salmon & cream cheese bagels with Prosecco & pomegranate juice. There’s nothing that says it’s Christmas more than being offered booze by your Mum at 9am. And we had a few more glasses while cooking lunch, chatting to family and eating some nibbles.
I’d put myself on the kids table for lunch because it meant I could sit by the back door and nip out to the kitchen without climbing over all my relatives.
This was a mistake because the children are all very loud and quite annoying. And they really like to talk about poo. All the time.
That’s not really a good topic of conversation over Christmas lunch, so when the red wine was opened, I accepted a large glass.
Red red wine
It makes you feel fine…
This red wine did. It was so smooth and
too very easy to drink. It perfectly complimented the loud and annoying children. I found myself laughing along with them, not even caring how many times they repeated the same shit jokes. Or how many times they screwed up the punch line. And I definitely didn’t even care how many times they said poo.
I stuck with the red wine all afternoon and early evening, and everything was great. I was having the best time, feeling a little bit merry and more than a bit giggly. It was nice. As a family, we’ve had a stressful few weeks, so it was lovely to relax, stuff ourselves full of gorgeous Christmas food and have some fun together.
I don’t know if any of you guys play random games on Christmas Day, but we had a super intense game of Heads Up. I had no idea this game could even be intense, but being one of the final two left guessing changed my mind. I’m usually pretty good at quizzes, but if it’s a game that involves guessing something, like I spy or Heads Up, I am incredible.
Incredibly shit that is.
Still, everybody had a great time laughing at my guesses. I was Boxing Day Soup, but I thought I was a Christmas card. So asking if I was something that could be written inside or arrived in a boat caused much hilarity.
After a very intense final 5 minutes, I managed to beat my Brother in Law by the tiniest ball hair.
Which was celebrated with another few large glasses of red.
I am ultra competitive. As are the rest of my family. And it didn’t take long for the quiz questions to come out, and a competition begin.
Around this time, my son’s best friend came over and the spirits were cracked open. The boys were drinking Courvoisier, my brother in law was knocking back the honey rum, my brother was on the whisky and my Mum and sister in law were on gin cocktails.
I decided to move on to Gin and Tonic.
Not just any Gin : my current favourite. Empress 1908.
It’s a beautiful indigo colour that changes colour when you add a mixer. Isn’t it gorgeous?
Switching to this gin was probably the thing that directly contributed to me getting absolutely smashed. I’m fascinated by how it changes colour, and it amused me every time I had a refill. Or maybe it was putting the bottle of gin and a box of tonic water on the table in front of me that did it. Not having to get up to refill my glass meant I wasn’t really paying attention to how much I was drinking. And the more I drank, the less accurate my measurements of gin to tonic became.
The grown ups started a game of Trivial Pursuit, the kids were all playing Minecraft nicely together, and I had my own bar in front of me. We were having a really good time.
Keeping up with the young team
This was my next mistake. I am 37 years old. I am a single parent of 4. One of these children is legally old enough to also get absolutely smashed, as is his best friend. Why on earth did I think I’d be able to keep up with them? Why did I think I’d be able to drink the whole table under the floor?
Ah yes. Because back in the day, I used to be able to drink lots and frequently.
These days I get a bit pissed on my brother’s birthday. And the rest of the year, I have the odd glass when things get a bit too stressful.
As such, my alcohol tolerance is pretty much zero.
Snapchat is good for these moments no? Well, my nephew and I thought the filters were hilarious. So basically, my gin consumption had brought my maturity level down to that of a 9 year old.
As well as getting absolutely smashed, I got my first nickname this year : Han-dog. Not sure if that’s a good or bad thing? Either way it made me laugh. And unfortunately made me feel a lot younger and much less responsible than I
actually allegedly am.
I temporarily forgot that I am approaching middle age, embraced my new nickname and continued marvelling at my gin changing colour.
Oh it was just so hysterical when I couldn’t pull the stopper out of the bottle anymore (?!) But it didn’t matter, there were plenty of people around me who could pull it out. In hindsight, this should have been a good indication that I was actually getting absolutely smashed. But nope.
Irresponsible drinking = absolutely smashed
Go home Hannah, you’re drunkBrother in law | at least 29 times | 25.12.19
Oh how I laughed every time my brother in law said this. I thought it was a joke.
Even my Mum accused me of being drunk, but I denied it. How could I be drunk if I could still see straight?
Not being able to answer ANY of the Trivial Pursuit questions didn’t clue me in either. I just made everyone else start again with the children’s questions.
It was great. I was having the time of my life!
I felt so young! And down with the kids! Even highly intelligent! (now I could actually answer some questions).
I was not any of these things
What I actually was, was absolutely smashed, pretending I wasn’t and making an absolute twat out of myself.
I’m fairly sure that at one point I confessed undying love to the entire room, thanked my brother for bringing his lovely lady into our lives and got a little inappropriate with my puns.
I genuinely believed I was hysterical, but in actual reality I was just a mess.
They made me go home
I don’t know whose idea it was to make me go home, but I felt completely fine until I went outside. All of a sudden I was totally, completely, irrefutably, absolutely smashed. My vision had pretty much gone, as had my house.
I live next door to my Mum, so I didn’t have far to stumble home. Except I had lost my house.
I was convinced I lived on the other side of my road and was trying to get into someone else’s house because they had the same door as me. (They don’t).
Some lucky person (or people, I can’t be sure because of the drunken vision thing) had the job of steering me towards my actual house. I vaguely remember being excited that the house we were visiting had the same car as me.
Because it was my car. On my drive. Outside my actual house.
Not that drunk me would have admitted to that.
It’s not my house
The downside of me being absolutely smashed was that I had temporarily forgotten that my house resembles an actual shit tip. I had left all the Christmess* in situ when we went round my Mum’s that morning. We literally left our house shortly after everything was unwrapped so I could start cooking Christmas lunch.
When I was escorted through my front door, I was horrified to be in such a messy house. I don’t really remember this, but apparently I was arguing with anybody that would listen that I wasn’t in my house. My house is tidy, and this house was not. It didn’t matter how many times I was told it was my house, I wouldn’t have it.
The piles of wrapping paper and assorted crap all over the house couldn’t possibly have been mine. I am house proud and spend a lot of time making sure everything is where it should be. But since my Mum fractured her spine, and school finished for the year, I’ve got seriously behind on putting stuff away. Leading me to refuse to accept I was in my own house.
As you do.
Hey I know you!
I don’t remember this either, but apparently I was really happy to see my brother in law. He had carried my smallest offspring home and I was very surprised to see him in the house that wasn’t mine. I was very excited when I recognised him and asked him if he was the one who had married my sister. When he said yes, this made me even more convinced that it wasn’t my house. And that I had somehow been transported to his house. But not being able to work out how was very confusing.
I don’t think anybody started their day thinking that they would need to prove to me where I lived.
Someone took me into the girls’ room in an attempt to prove to me that this was definitely my house because my children were in it.
When I spotted Emily, I reminded her that I gave birth to her. I don’t think she found this as funny as I apparently did. Especially as she was tired and not in the mood to deal with a parent that was absolutely smashed but intent on reliving her birth story.
I must have eventually accepted this was my house, because I remember being in my bedroom getting ready for the sleep that all future sleeps would be jealous of. Albeit complaining about the mess that was in there too.
I didn’t stay in my room long, because I had the sudden urge to
run stumble to the bathroom and spend the next couple of hours cuddling the toilet.
I regret this bit a lot.
I’ve given birth to 4 children naturally, and things down there are not quite as taut as they otherwise could be.
This, combined with how violently I am sick is not a good combination.
I’m not going to spell it out, but those of you who also suffer from this will know what I’m talking about.
Unfortunately for me, I had a fair few ‘helpers’ holding back my hair and witnessing the Hannah’s absolutely smashed spectacle I was laying on for them all. I didn’t know this at the time, which is just as well, because I am MORTIFIED that there were witnesses.
A rather random side note to this, is that being proud that you only threw up booze and not the amazing Christmas dinner is not an accomplishment. It’s not something to be proud of, no matter how many times you tell your adult child and his best friend.
I didn’t feel it at the time because I was beyond feeling any kind of emotion. But I bloody well feel it now. That was no state for a grown up to be in. And definitely not a state for a mother of 4 to be in.
I have no idea who put me to bed, or who changed me into my Pjs. But I do know that my poor son was on vomit bowl duty until I finally passed out into a deep sleep.
The morning after
I was roused from my drunken slumber by something making an incredibly irritating noise. After shouting out to the whole house : “will someone turn that bloody crap off” I discovered it was my phone.
I don’t know what I said when I answered it, but it made my Mum on the other end laugh. She invited me over for coffee which seemed like a really good idea, given that my mouth felt like I’d been licking sandpaper all night.
It wasn’t a good idea, because it turns out I was still drunk. Not only drunk, but my toilet cuddling had pulled every muscle in between every rib. This made moving, drinking, breathing and talking painful. But not as painful as it got as the day wore on and the alcohol wore off.
Oh the hangover. It took all day to really kick in, but I have never felt so terrible. And I have nobody to blame but myself. On the one hand everything was fine, because the whole family got together for Boxing Day soup, cold cuts and salad, which is a perfect hangover meal. But on the other hand, being forced to listen to the stories of your drunken shenanigans is torture.
Especially when your nephews, daughters, son, sister, brother in law, brother, sister in law and Mum all have their own stories to tell. AND you feel like absolute shit.
It’s now very late on the 27th December and I’m still recovering. My ribs are so painful and my throat really hurts. And the shame. Oh the shame.
Christmas 2019 will be forever remembered in my family as the year Hannah/Mum got absolutely smashed and behaved like a complete twat.
I just really REALLY hope that Ruby doesn’t use this as an example in her writing at school like she has done previously.
So yes, this year was the first time I’ve been that wankered as a parent. Ever. And it’s also definitely the last.
*Christmess = Christmas mess. I.E. wrapping paper, gift tags, ripped open boxes, stockings, chocolate wrappings and other assorted Christmas paraphernalia that’s scattered about the house.