On hangovers and heat
Normally, New Year's Day would see me crawl out of bed in the early afternoon nursing a hangover of moderate to severe proportions. Not today, however. Today I almost bounced out of bed, at the ungodly hour of 4:15am. I'd planned to get up at 4:30am, affording me enough time to shower and sort through CDs before being picked up by my erstwhile Breakfast co-host for the week, Camilla Hannan, at 5:30am, but as it was I woke slightly earlier as my sweaty and exhited housemate barrelled through the door on his way from New Year's Eve party A to party B. I confess to pangs of angst and loneliness that I didn't spend New Year's Eve in my traditional fashion, getting drunk and drugged-up in a club or clubs somewhere surrounded by friends and their friends. This year the plan had been to spend the night with Mike, Darren and others at Blood, Sweat, New Years , at a Brunswick strip club taken over for the night by a rag-tag bunch of queers. The crew behind the night had thr...