We live at the sharp end of several thousand years of written history. Over the millennia, countless scrolls, documents books, pamphlets and circulars have demonstrated the written word's ability to inspire, confound, amuse and amaze. In recent years, the Internet has made it possible for everyone to read great examples of writing everyday.
This is not going to be one of them.
I am suffering. Oh, how I suffer. Watch me as I suffer! This is indeed the day after the night before. And the night before in question was the event of brother no. 1's wedding reception ceremony.
We had a great time. My brother and new sis-in-law looked radiantly happy at their newly arrived-at married status. I met a whole bunch of family members that I rarely see these days. We made vague commitments towards getting together with the Irish wing of the family at some point next year. And we got to eat a cake. That looked like a roulette wheel.
In amongst it all, I may have had a cleansing ale or two. Katie also indulged. I suspect gin made an appearance, too. At 3am we decided to head back to our hotel room.
This morning at 8.30 I was in a whole world of pain. Thoughts moved very slowly through my addled mind. Fluids. Darkness. Quiet. Warmth. Those were my aims. The promise of a full English breakfast would normally be enough to bring me forth from the pit. But that was not the case this morning.
And, cruelly, the only coffee available in the hotel room was decaffeinated.
Later that morning, we'd showered and negotiated our way into clothing. I was still convinced that something had died in my mouth overnight. On our way to check out, we bumped into brother no. 1 and his new bride - who'd been with us during the witching hour the night before.
"You look exactly how we feel," he said. This was not meant as a compliment.
Is it a good thing, when settling up at the hotel reception, if more than 50% of the total cost is your bar bill from the previous night? That's not good, is it? Just checking.
As I sit here, Katie is attempting to sleep on the sofa. So far, the world is conspiring against her - first an RSPCA chugger going door-to-door, then a phone call from my blessed mother. "Just checking to see if you had a good time last night."
The evidence would suggest that we did.