It’s the people who desperately want to complete Dry January but fall into a vat of drink midway that we need to watch out for, writes Suzanne Harrington
Funny how we never fantasise about hangovers. Just as we never say to each other in bed: “Darling, let’s make a teenager”; nor do we ever say to a bar person: “Make mine three days of existential dread with headaches and nausea. Cheers.”
We think only of the adorable baby, rather than what it will grow into; we think only of the perfect glass of whatever, rather than throwing up in a bin at work the next day.
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