1936 Shaking in the 60's by Eddie Clarke

the laughter of happy people resounds in our ears like echoes from Hades itself, and horrible little men seem to be turning our body into some new fangled building. Some of them are drilling, hammering and shovelling in every part ofour head. Others are levering our eyes from out of their sockets to construct tunnels connecting up to the main road (which once housed our tongue)and continuing right down into our stomach, now resembling a cement mixing machine and rotating at a sickening speed. Actually there is no real need for panic, because our suffering is not all that serious. We have nothing fatal,just a common short-lived hangover, which unfortunately hasn't a cure because we are far too late. It should have been attended to last night just after that "one for the road", when our supplies of Alka Seltzer, Aspro, Aspirins, and Bicarbonate and many other such things would have helped stem the tide of alcohol and prevented it flowing directly into our bloodstream. Exercise is grand medicine—in fact several double somersaults upon a high trapeze are marvellous. But for we unathletic types, it is far easier to seek relieffrom bottles of mixed joys. But by this we rather frown on the "die-hards" who, after remembering what they drank most of the previous night, seek out a similar brand, then raising the bottle to the parched lips, and taking a mighty draught claim that there is nothing like a "hair from the leg of the dog that bit me". No, we frown on such uncivilised be haviour, and it does not ease our torment, it only heaps more coal on the burning fire. We favour a more subtle remedy. We approach each suffering organ of our body separately, and search for an ingredient which will soothe and console it. We will chase away the splitting headache with applications ofPernod, Absinthe or Anisette. Then a draught oflemon juice will cleanse and remove the carpet


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