A Drinker's Guide to my brother's wedding


It begins.

Phone rings.

"Hi Ronan?"
"It's Jaime. I'm drunk."

So I went to Ye Porterhouse, met up with JoeV, Bren, Cliffy, Diarm, Alan, and some jarhedz (one of whom was fanboying me for the fact that I was a Knowledgable Person on the linux.ie mailinglists, horror of horrors) and then ran into Jaime, Jen and Brian, part of Donal's wedding party who had been drinking since 1pm. They later wandered off to do pretty much every pub on the way from the Porterhouse back to Jury's Inn, so I went back to the lads and drank with them until whenever.


Ow My Head.

Drove into town with the hangover, picked up Jaime, Jen and Brian from Jury's, drove back to Dalkey with them as I'd forgotten my camera, then took them down to Waterford via the coast road (except for a scenic tourist diversion via Rathdrum and Avoca) where we ditched Jen with some relatives of hers, and onto Dungarvan where the rest of us stayed. We drank until later, at which point we retired to bed. Person unidentified yakked on the stairs, but it can't have been Jaime or me, because we apparently took the stairs too quickly to do so. This was verified by Aric (aka the Viking; you pronounce that "Eric"), who took the lift as we took the stairs.


Woah! No hangover!

Arrived down at noon to find Aric at the bar with a pint and a newspaper. After I'd had some food, I joined him. I stayed drinking until 5:45pm, when I scooted off to dinner with Family of Wedding Party (i.e. us and them) where there was a vodka and a wine, and then back to the hotel for More Beer and a farting competition. We left in the end.

Monday (D-Day):

Oh No.

I woke up with the full-body hangover. You know the sort, where you can't move, and you can't lie still, either, because it all hurts. I sat in the shower for fifteen minutes because it felt like such a nice warm place to be. Drank non-alc bevvies for the day. Lovely ceremony (non-religious; a registry wedding with some procedural stuff to emphasise that it wasn't a casual thing to be doing, and some potentially religious readings to keep everyone happy) followed by the reception at a restaurant in the wilds of Ring. My dinner was somewhat interrupted by having to handle a tech support call or two, but I still managed to scarf down the half-a-cow offered when I asked for beef, and the choco moose. Er, mousse. But alas, my good health had not returned; we got back to the hotel, and at about ten o'clock I was on my third guinness and not enjoying it. Made profuse apologies to Donal and Shar, and scooted off upstairs where I proceeded to have a two-hour nap followed by a two-hour semi-delirious fever followed by a wonderful sleep despite the howling wind outside the hotel.



Two words: WHERE'S BREAKFAST? Basically, back to full health again. I am of the opinion that while my biodefences were laid low by the combined effects of Friday, Saturday and at least part of Sunday, something snuck in for a 24-hour stay, and that more than the beer is what killed me on Monday.

Of course, I would guess that over the Fri-Mon period, I consumed in the order of 20-25 beers, which is probably sufficient to kick my ass for at least a day anyway.

Irish Funeral vs. Irish Wedding: One Less Drunk