In Lucky Jim, Kingsley Amis addresses the symptoms of one of humankind’s most precarious and debilitating afflictions: “Dixon was alive again. He lay sprawled, too wicked to move, spewed up like a broken spider-crab on the tarry shingle of the morning. The light did him harm, but not as much as looking at things did; he resolved, having done it once, never to move his eyeballs again. A dusty thudding in his head made the scene before him beat like a pulse. His mouth had been used as a latrine by some small creature of the night, and then as its mausoleum. During the night, too, he’d somehow been on a cross-country run and then been expertly beaten up by the secret police. He felt bad.” It doesn’t take an MD to diagnose Dixon’s problem as a hangover. Clement Freud estimates that seeing the first wine was made around 3000 BC, the first hangover probably occured around three hours later. The twentieth century has brought with it unforeseen development in medecine, technology and communications. Yet still the hangover remains as an ever-present spectre, rising over the quiet embers of a peaceful sleep, only to rekindle as a blazing furnace in the light of morning. You never know when you will encounter one, although some of us are always more likely. WC Fields said to always carry a flagon of whisky for snakebite. Furthermore, always carry a small snake. There is some degree of truth in that classical cover-up line used in Brideshead Revisited, when Sebastian explained that “It wasn’t so much the quantity, but the variety” of the liquors taken by his friend that caused his subsequent and violent discomfiture. For despite whatever the wowsers might say, it is abundantly clear you don’t have to drink to excess to wake up with one. Here follows advice gleaned from others and from within, which when taken with a liberal dose of medical science may be of some practical value. Hangovers aren’t necessarily caused by alcohol itself, but by the numerous colouring and flavouring impurities found in alcoholic beverages, known as congeners, which vary in nature from drink to drink. They may include fusel oils, tannins, esters organic acids, even aldehydes, and are especially prevalent in wood-matured liquors or those distilled drinks which can form higher alcohols. Some are so toxic that if taken straight they would be lethal. So, if you respond in particularly frail fashion in the mornings, or if there’s a chance you won’t respond at all, leave those wood-aged chardonnays that smell of French 4-be-2 well alone. Stick with as few varieties of drink as possible. By mixing them you expose yourself to a wider range of congeners, and increase your chances of an immobilizing hangover. To steer clear of congeners, choose the forms of alcohol closest to the pure version, i.e. white wine instead of red, and vodka instead of scotch. But if you sense the apparition of doom looming high before you, you can soften its impact. The first thing is to dress appropriately. The Romans and Greeks thought that hangovers were caused by noxious vapours which emanated from alcoholic drinks. The Greeks would wear wreaths of plants believed to have medicinal properties, such as violets, myrtle and roses, to soak up and nullify the fumes. Romans would dress in amethyst-coloured robes and amethyst jewellery, believing that amethyst counteracted the noxious fumes. Dinner suits have to be the twentieth century’s equivalent, although they seldom work. Warning her father, Harry Secombe’s daughter once said “Don’t put on that suit, daddy. You know what a headache it gives you…”. Get something solid into the tum before the session begins to absorb the aldehydes and other congeners before they reach the bloodstream. This can be effected with charcoal and cabbage, a itself chelator pioneered by the Egyptians. Vitamin C allegedly assists in this respect. But let’s assume it’s too late and you’re already hurting. A traditional Puerto Rican cure is to take half a lemon and rub it in the armpits. Water is perhaps a more effective cure. Alcohol dehydrates the body, so always force down some water before retiring. It may help to refloat the beached walrus that your tongue might otherwise have become. Alcohol dilates blood vessels, so with an increased blood supply to the brain, whose size in all but the most unusual of circumstances is limited by the skull, a headache is almost inevitable. Combine this with alcohol’s dehydrating effect on the body and it becomes a foe to be reckoned with. Conventional painkillers are really false cures, though, for although they hide a problem, they don’t really cure it. Honey and exercise (if realistic) can help, while fructose (plentiful in honey) and oxygen help by converting NADH back to NAD. One of alcohol’s effects is strongly diuretic, reducing the levels of some normal elements like magnesium and calcium. Replace them. The Assyrians recommended crushed swallows’ beaks. One non-alcoholic Roman cure requires one small room (a vomitorium in Latin), one feather (ostrich or other large plumed bird), and one slave to hold the bowl (optional). Take the hair, it is well written, Of the dog by whom you were bitten. Work off one win by his brother, And one labour with another. Once alcohol leaves the brain cells, they’re in a highly sensitised condition, possibly leading to hypersensitivity and hyper-excitability. That’s why Amis’s Dixon found sound and light so extreme the morning after. A slow return to the normal state is regarded by many as the best solution, easing the cells back to normal without an abrupt, disquieting shock. Enter John Heywood, who said in 1546 “I pray thee let me and my fellow have a Haire of the Dog that bit us last night”. This concept is also the basis of the various bitters remedies, blends of spirits and herbs such as Fernet Branca, most of which are highly alcoholic. I prefer Underberg, which tastes of liquorice and isn’t as sweet. Clement Freud says that when deciding which sort of hair of the dog you should take, the first step is to determine whether the disciplined or indulgent approach is likely to be the more effective. The disciplined tack should create a sharp shock, strongly persuading you to take an instant hold of yourself. The danger with the indulgent is you might like it, and the whole affair might start again. Alcohol strips your body of vitamins B1, B6 and C. It makes sense to stock up before, during and after drinking session, and certainly the next morning. Beer is known as a good antidote and it’s vitamin rich. But the hair of the dog is almost too good to be true. A spell of continued alcoholic intake, even for only one night out, causes fat to deposit inside the liver, hardly an ideal state of affairs. For the body to remove this fat, there needs be no alcohol left in either the liver or the bloodstream. So a hair of the dog or corpse reviver could simply refloat your battered liver with alcohol and prevent the fat from being washed away, a nasty and sure step to trouble. Your liver needs about twelve hours free before it’s able to face up to the next onslaught, although it’s understandable if your put your immediate survival first. An ultimate, desperate resort, is to perform a little Haitian voodoo and stick thirteen pins into the cork of the very bottle whose contents were responsible for your adversity.
