I don’t know why they ask me in particular, but I have often been asked for the best cure for a hangover.

I’m not really an expert on the subject, as I can honestly say that in nearly sixty years of partaking of the nectar of the grain, I have never had one.  True enough, I have often woken in the morning with a slamming headache, or a sick stomach, and on the odd occasion have even found strange mulicoloured menageries crawling around the bedroom walls, but as any seasoned drinker will tell you – that is the result of drinking out of damp glasses, and isn’t really a hangover at all.

One of the soundest pieces of advice I have ever been given was passed on to me by my father.  I remember the day well.  I am fairly sure it was my fifth birthday, and as my Dad poured me a grand full glass of malt, he told me never to mix my drinks.  People will tell you about how mixing the grain and the grape will lead to disaster, but it goes further than that.  As my Dad said – whatever you take as a first drink – stick with that for the night.

I cannot understand modern youth.  They head out of a Saturday night and pile into the nearest bar and order themselves a lethal mixture of Tequilas, shots, shorts and whatever other lethal piss the barman is canny enough to pawn off on them, and then they complain when they wake up in hospital, a cell or in the gutter somewhere.  They fucking deserve it.

I have fallen foul of my father’s rule in the past.  I remember one office party where I made the mistake of having a Crème de Menthe as my first drink, and realised I would have to stick with that for the night.  Take it from an expert – five pints of Crème de Menthe is fairly sickly on the stomach, and if I remember correctly, that was one of those nights where I was served out of damp glasses, just to add to my woes.

Of course another mistake people make is to adulterate their drinks with all sorts of rubbish. It’s bad enough adding lemonade to ruin a good whiskey but some even go so far as to add things to Guinness!  Can you believe that?  Shit like blackcurrant juice, beer or even champagne?  There really ought to be a law against that.  In fact, it should be a capital crime.

The other piece of advice my Dad gave me was to always have a good feed the following morning.

I have heard all sorts of rubbish about Bloody Marys, Hair of the Dog, raw egg and other filth that doesn’t deserve a name.  No.  A great smoking fry-up is your only man.  Sausages, rashers, a couple of fried eggs, a mountain of black and white pudding and a couple of slices of fried bread is the only thing.  There is no harm in throwing in a few mushrooms and a tin of baked beans as well. And don’t fall into the trap of grilling anything.  It must be fried up in plenty of good old-fashioned fat.

So there you have it.

The rules for a successful life of drinking.

Cheers, Dad.