I’m sure I read somewhere that the treatment for chronic headaches used to be a bout of trepanation: drilling a hole in the skull to let the demons out. Doubtless, the patient usually died and thus, the headaches went away. And might, therefore, have been considered a successful treatment.

I am fully aware of how lucky I am to live in a time of painkillers.

A hangover in your twenties is usually quite a shocking affair. You might well have thought you were immune. In the whole history of humankind, no one, surely, has shaken it off as fast as a twenty-something. But, as you get older, your capacity for alcohol shrinks. It will feel like your skull has done the same because, suddenly, it’s far too tight to safely house your brain. That’s a thirty-something hangover.

I dread to think what my forties have in store.

Sobriety, probably.

In the meantime, I am thankful for painkillers.