I posted this ode to the morning after the night before on
my other blog a couple of years ago. Some of you may identify with it today. If so I send you my condolences.
Among the metaphysical insights from Withnail and Marwood (the “I” of the title) as they drift into the “arena of the unwell”, are “Oh God, I don’t feel good. Look, my thumbs have gone weird! My heart’s beating like a fucked clock! I feel dreadful, I feel really dreadful,” to which Withnail responds, “So do I, so does everybody. Look at my tongue; it’s wearing a yellow sock.” Of Withnail’s other measured contributions, even including the haughty demand that “There must and there shall be aspirin!”, the one that lingers is the succinct “I feel like a pig shat in my head”
More epic literary hangovers at
guardian.co.uk
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