whose liver is it anyway?

So, I'm nearly 40 and learnt an important lesson on Saturday night. Sambuka, vodka and campari DO NOT make a nice drink. not even downed in one. (Especially downed in one).
I also learnt something on Sunday morning. Either other people are total lightweights and simply cannot take their alcohol or I have a cast iron bucket where my liver should be. I felt rough but not 'I can't move my head is spinning so much, please bring me a bucket' rough.
OK, so I wasn't going to go for a jog round the Heath (though it has been known - to paraphrase Nietzche 'you don't beat the mountain, you beat your hangover') but I still managed to get to the breakfast I had arranged.
Not entirely sure I had the last laugh though, as this morning I had mislaid something rather precious to me: my eyes. I was so tired I felt like someone was swinging on my eyelids while at the same time forcing my eyeballs back into my head with jousting sticks. While my fellow party-goers were giving thanks to god that they were back on planet healthy.
It's now 5.40pm and I am only just coming round. And also coming round to the idea of a drink. Which is rather fortunate as I have a dinner with PRs that I couldn't rearrange (imagine trying to cancel a dinner with a PR or a journalist because you're hungover!).
How we would all laugh...