By Michelle Heffernan
Between Daytripper, Waterford Walls Festival, Fireworks in Tramore, and no excuses whatsoever for whiskies, there are probably a few sore heads knocking around Waterford today (myself included). For all you comrades in self inflicted pain, here’s Waterford in Your Pocket’s guide to the Morning After a Night Out in Waterford
Phase One: The Bomb
Suddenly. Without warning. You’re pulled from the bliss of drunken slumber and thrown into a full scale nuclear attack. That’s right, you’ve woken up, and it feels like seven atomic bombs are going off between your brain, skull, sinus and stomach. It’s definitely bright outside and you can hear traffic on the road but you can’t recollect what day it is, how you got home or why you’ve got a Hawaiian hula necklace around your head. You reach for your phone and knock the entire pint of water you didn’t drink last night all over yourself and the Samsung. Why God, why are you singling me out to torture?
Phase Two: The Wreakage
As panic starts to set in, you manage to peel your sweaty balls off the bare mattress to investigate the situation at hand. Straight down to Spar you ask the young Polish lad what day, month and year it is, and if his friend who works the doors in Sinnotts , maybe, by any chance, saw you last night? You buy a breakfast roll,an orange juice, a packet of panadol and spend seven minutes staring at the coffee machine before you realise you never even pressed the button.
Back at base camp, you check your online banking. WHAT WERE YOU DOING AT AN ATM IN LISDUGGAN AT 4AM???!! You contemplate calling Rapid Cabs, WLR FM or like the Guards? and offering a reward for anyone who can come forward with information about your whereabouts between 12am and 4am last night.
Phase Three: The Damage Control
Ok, now that you’re a little more hydrated and alert, you start to assess the snowball of anxieties tumbling through your tortured mind. First off, you’re alive, and aside from some mysterious bruises, you’re more or less in one piece?The financial sector took a hit last night but you’ve called Zurich and all monetary sources are now seized and on lockdown. There are flashes coming back of reading the toilet graffiti in Geoff’s and queuing to get into Heery’s/Shortt’s/Project/ somewhere in the Apple Market, but that’s about it. So far, no one has answered your texts, but then no one has tagged you or sent you cease and desist notices. Breathe. Shower. Watch 5 episodes in a row of Brooklyn 99 in your duvet and your onesie. You can get through this.
Phase Four: The Truth
After hours spent between gluttony and self pity its finally bedtime, and considering you’ve been sitting on your arse all day you’re absolutely wrecked. You’ve washed that smoke stench out of your hair and have your gym bag full of good intentions for tomorrow. You’ve just finished refreshing your feed for the twentieth time, and turn out the light when the phone vibrates.
In trepidation you hold your breath as, painfully slowly, pixel by pixel, an image forms of you.
On the Viking Longboat. Skulling a plastic bottle of cider.. FLASHING the entire town.
You bury your face in the pillow and resolve to spend every weekend for the foreseeable future cycling the Greenway/ camping in the Comeraghs/ fishing in Boatstrand. Which actually would all be very fun with a few cans….god dammit Waterford- you’re too much craic!
Happy Hangover everyone!