Oh god. Oh god oh god oh god. ohgodohgodohgodohGAWD. How much did you drink last night? What was that green stuff? Why are you covered in glitter? HOW CAN YOUR HEAD HURT THIS MUCH? Don’t worry, RadioTimes.com is here to ease you through New Year’s Day…
Right, you’ve made it to the sofa. Nicely done. You feel strangely peaceful, perhaps because you can’t remember anything at all: what happened last night, your name, who Charlie is and why his name is tattooed on your thigh. It is a new year and you are reborn as a blessedly ignorant child. Lie back and enjoy the colours.
We’re not going to lie: you look rough. There’s a fair amount of drool, well, everywhere, and your head feels like a bottle bank in a multi-storey car park. You really had a hard day’s night of it. Right? Get it? Sing along with the Beatles!
The Most Reverend Justin Welby? Of all the reverends, he’s the most. Haha. No, but seriously, you’re a bad person and you deserve to suffer. You need to sort your life out, find religion…or at least your wallet and shoes. Clean up your act. Go to the gym, never EVER drink again. Maybe you’ll even give your ex a call. They’ll be impressed by how much you’ve matured, maybe even take you back.
Wait, you already did. You did call your ex last night.
You still can’t move, but why not practise the power of speech by doing your Michael Caine impression over and over again? You wur only suhpowsed…Wow, that’s growly. Were you chewing on cigarettes last night? Did you get in an argument? Who were you screaming at? Ah, yes, you remember: a mirror. You screamed at a mirror for half an hour.
It’s just a con, isn’t it? Love, happily ever after, hygiene: it’s all one big con. When Mr Darcy climbs out of a pond in his undershirt, it’s sexy. When you swan-dive into a public fountain, your friends ditch you. Mr Darcy would never get thrown out of a KFC for insulting the bouncer. Well, he might, but he would have done it in a fancier accent. Mr Darcy definitely wouldn’t have found coleslaw in his pocket this morning.
You have never felt worse in your life. You peer out of your eyeballs like a survivor in a nuclear bunker. What you need is some good old-fashioned schmaltz. Schnitzel with noodles (stop retching), brown paper kittens bound up with string. That will perk you up.
Hold on, is that blood? Why are your clothes soaked in blood? Is it your blood or someone else’s blood?
Someone else’s. It tastes like someone else’s blood.