The Existential Concerns of Four Pint Hangovers

Last night.
Four pints between the Prestonville and the Evening Star. I catch a taxi back (£10 exactly - Andy caught a taxi later on, and this was also £10 exactly). I get in and go straight to sleep, as it is my Saturday shift at work.
I wake sometime in the small hours when it is still dark. I feel somewhat ill and wonder if I am about to throw up. I go to the toilet. I really do not want to throw up. I rub water on myself. Why do we do these silly things when we are trying not to throw up? My body is very uncomfortable.
I go back to my room and open the window. Cold snowy air. I think if I leave my curtains open, the sight of the night will make me feel better.
I do not throw up.
I go back to sleep.

My four hours at work are fortunately quiet, and though I feel somewhat hungover, I am able to begin a drawing of Lovecraft's elder god Cthulhu I am quite pleased with. I go straight home after work, and fall asleep on the sofa watching Come Dine With Me. I wake up and drink cup of tea after cup of tea, the mild physical nausea of the morning has passed into the hangover phase of existential concern and nostalgic haunting. I watch a documentary on a DVD I bought last week about the making of the Doctor Who story Frontios. This begins to unsettle me as the actors start talking about the deaths and breakdown associated with the production. Outside the white skies begin to fade slowly to twilight. The documentary makes me think of Forres, and when I first watched the story, in early 1984. Snowy then too I imagine. Drained-out pre-adolescent days, and fast approaching my last year in Scotland. Last year of childhood. The air tastes the same now as it does then. I lie down for a while and watch the Doctor Who story Day of the Daleks. I used to have this on VHS tape. I begin to dread Monday already. I download Death in June's Peaceful Snow album. Perhaps this will make the hangover better, even though I am oddly enjoying it too.
There is a coldness about the flat. Well, apart from the living room, which is cosy and warm, but I really must turn off the television.
I wonder if it snowing again?