This title is a lie. I don’t have any tips, I don’t know if there are any tips, there’s no fucking way to defeat this hangover and I think it’s possible I might die. I’m writing to you from near the grave, or at least from a self piteous half-slump on the couch while I hide from my children (who are being distracted with chicken nuggets because parenting). All I can give you is my advice:

Don’t eat a kilo of cheese* and a bottle of champagne. Even between 2 people. You’re an idiot and you deserve this suffering.

Oh ho, you say, but I am able to eat your fondue, all melty and celebratory and delightful. Sure, it will be a little rich but I definitely won’t be up 5 times overnight with a mouth like someone left that mini dentist vacuum thing running in (because SALT). Nor will I spend the next day theatrically moaning and lying facedown on the rug due to seediness levels approximating some kind of insane bucks/hens party at the end of a week of dehydration. I will cope!

Listen my friends, for I too was that foolish a mere day ago.

I have no tips for how to recover. I have tried the following with zero success:

• A lot of water. My stomach is pissed off at my dry hideous mouth and the more mouth wants water the worse he makes it feel for me. Can’t you guys settle your differences and not drag me down in your turf war?
• Bacon. Fuck you internet and your pretence that bacon solves everything. More salt is not the answer.
• Getting up at 5.15am to go see hot air balloons. Self explanatory.
• BBQ pork buns. I suspected this might be a shit idea but I was desperate at that point.
• 2 year old jumping on your stomach. Because science.
• Electrolyte drink. Tasted like the cloying disappointment of broken dreams, and purple.
• Coffee. I trusted you and you let me down. My bathroom isn’t thanking you for your contribution and neither am I.

At this point I’ll take whatever insane witchdoctor remedy is offered me. I typed ‘how to cure a cheese hangover’ into google and I swear to god the second fucking result that comes up is ‘Cheese is your hangover’s best friend’ which just seems like a giant sign that the universe hates me and everything I stand for.

So next time you think you can defeat the laws of dietary good sense, remember my shrivelled piteous corpse lying abandoned in a cheese mine somewhere and make better decisions than I did.

*  I spent this morning relaying my predicament with an understanding that I was exaggerating, because duh, obviously I didn’t eat an actual kilo of cheese. Only then K tells me it was 960g plus we had that different variety on the side with the muscatels so actually screw you, stomach, it was more than that.