How to Survive a Hangover

• Awake, knowing less about anything than you have ever known in your life. The only feeling your conscious of is a deep foreboding. Your mind and body have been scattered from each other. Quite like how you scattered your shoes: you can see from here that one has ended up gallantly dangling from the curtain pole, while you're inexplicably confident that its companion is at your friend Tony's house.

• Furiously check all of your cosmetics for expiration dates, as it appears your face has decomposed overnight. Thank your lucky stars that you did not pull last night. You might be having a bad morning, but imagine how that poor lad would have felt when he woke up beside Dame Edna Everage? Those expensive false eye-lashes which you'd applied in a military-style operation last night now aid you to look only like a disorientated camel. Over-dramatically douse your face in cleanser and remove elaborately just like the girls do in the ads, sighing and feeling yourself purify as you go. Startle yourself as you gasp aloud. Your reflection inspires a range of responses, most notable being "who could ever love such a beast?" Try to ignore the Phantom of the Opera theme tune from your head as you hastily re-apply as much fresh make up as is humanly possible, for fear any small children or people with heart conditions stumble into your path. 

• Latest fashion dictates that you must wear ridiculous swiss-cheese style dresses which are adorned with mystifying holes. You understand of course that you may well be buried in this dress. Firstly because you're convinced taking it off would require a PhD. (You might just send one to your old feverishly-catholic sex education teacher to distribute amongst her students.) Secondly because if your assessment of your physical condition is to be trusted, you are more than likely going to die today. 

• Crawl pathetically into bed, (dress and eyelashes still attached, sense of joy so far removed you doubt you'd ever possessed it) to continue with your cheerless existence. Quiver with effort as you endeavour to will yourself magical powers to cast a hex on all your coupled friends. So this is why people have boyfriends. If only you'd had the foresight to have known this day would come! You surely would have made more of an effort with Over-zealous Steve, perhaps even Germaphobe Oliver. You'd give all of your worldly positions for a hug. Which, if your vague memory of how much your card was used last night is to be trusted, would make that a very cheap hug. You are so lucky that Dominos let you order online now, so that nobody on the phone has to hear you cry about the fact you don't have a boyfriend to make you food. Hatch an ingenious plan to make the delivery boy your boyfriend.

• You must brush your teeth, which is a very tense affair. Appreciate what a disgusting human being you are for tolerating the grotesque and overbearing taste of tequila and a Mystery Food for so long. Decide you must purge your mouth of this tang immediately, before the delivery boy embraces you in a passionate kiss. Unfortunately, any attempt of your fearless toothbrush to delve further than your molars is snookered by a sudden, violent retching. Something in your stomach -Jager being the prime suspect - is super excited to get out and is hoping this is the opportune moment to catch you unaware by exiting as brave toothbrush enters. What follows is a horrendous game of cat and mouse. You try your darndest to carry on, brushing your teeth as though nothing is happening. But each swish of your toothbrush is superseded by a loud "BLAAAAARGH!" as you heave inelegantly. Tears of shame sting your eyes as you resign yourself to the bathroom floor, foaming Aquafresh and gagging not very much unlike the style of Patches The Cat every time he has a hair ball. And you expect people to give you a degree.

• Pizza arrives. Delivery boy hastily hands you the box, probably because you look like one of the scarce survivors of the Irish Potato Famine of 1845. And you act as such, impatiently stuffing a slice into your mouth less in the style of a human eating, more like someone doing a disgusting party trick. Grunt ignorantly as he hands you your change and retreat to your lair of misery to consume. Realise all aspirations of making him yours were forgotten once food was smelt. Entertain the thought that you are actually the missing link, you horrific specimen. 

• Lie there in bewilderment. In normal situations, this degree of pain and suffering would merit an ambulance. Or at the very least, a tearful slot on a chat show. This is appalling. Scientists are so bone-idle they can focus on trips into space, yet they haven't prioritised sourcing a cure for the common hangover? How do they even sleep at night? Sniff bravely as you calmly realise your quandary is unrecognised.  So this is injustice. Maybe you should call the Invisible Children. People need to become aware. I mean, does Bob Geldof know this is going on? Someone should tell him.

• Become disillusioned with humanity. It's a shame you've realised the earth is such a horrible place the same day that you're suffering from an incapacitating hangover. Otherwise, I bet people would listen to you. Sadly contemplate the pure repression of a world where you simply cannot live out your life in the manner of a content elephant. 

• Get quite annoyed with yourself. Nobody will believe your resignation from alcohol because you've said it so many times. You are the girl who cried "never again, I mean it". You'll show them, though. You can't wait to take up loads of eclectic hobbies in place of all the time which you will no longer spend in the pub. There they'll all be, hungover. And you'll sit there, polishing your badminton trophies. Hah. That'll show them. 

• Land on "Scary Island." For those unfamiliar, it's the Hotel Rwanda of emotional despondency. For no obvious reason, you are absolutely sure that you have a genuine reason to feel extremely upset. Not only that, you've upset everyone who loves and cares for you. Even people who weren't even out last night. Tearfully call your baffled mother to apologise. Every bleep of your mobile fills you with dread, as you anxiously await the earth-shattering terrible news which you're so sure is coming. Seek human interaction desperately. You must go to the pub, else you feel you may or may not seek out a permanent marker and a tennis ball and do a Castaway on it.

• Repeat.