It's official... I have a hangover that would kill a civilian. Following a stag farewell Dinner night in the Mess, I awoke at 0900 this morning with the taste of vomit in my mouth, carpet rash on my forehead, and stony silence from the wife(apparently when I got back at 0445 she remonstrated with me for making enough noise to waken the dead, let alone the kids, so I told her to ram it and watch I didn't slot her like in South Armagh(WTF?)). My last coherent memory is belting out Bohemian Rhapsody on the Curryerky(rather well, IMHO), and having a "kids of today" chat with an RSM from PWRR. I've dragged my sorry carcass into work this morning because I've been dicked with doing some really stupid things for the TA this weekend, and I need to get some advice from the speshulists down the road so I don't fry anyone. Trouble is I'll have to drive to see them, and I won't be sober enough for that until Sunday. So I'm sitting here marinating in my own farts, occasionally emitting grumbles and moans from both ends, avoiding the phone and sunlight. Ouch it all hurts.