LIFTING my head cautiously from my pillow, I feel like I’m going to be sick.
The room is swimming in front of my eyes and I feel so rough I can barely reach out to grab the glass of water beside my bed.
I’d love to pretend it was flu or something else worthy of sympathy.
But my condition is self-inflicted, down to the two bottles of wine I’d happily swigged in the sunshine the previous day.
The only thing I knew would make me feel better was food — specifically junk food — so I proceeded to eat my way through the sort of menu that would make a sumo wrestler proud.
It started with two mozzarella and tomato croissants at 6.30am, thanks to Deliveroo, and finished with a 10pm Pot Noodle.
In between, there were fruit gums, pies and chocolate.
The next day, still feeling the effects of the wine, I ate even more junk, starting with a bacon sandwich for breakfast, a cheese and salami baguette for lunch and fish and chips for supper.
I worked out I must have eaten more than 7,000 calories over the two days — a huge hike from my norm of around 1,200 a day.
The booze assault on my body resulted in nearly a week of feeling ill.
Emotionally, I hated what it had done to myself. I was exhausted and even my bones ached. Oh, and I put on 5lb.
A couple of those were water weight and fell off within the week, but the other three stayed, and that soon adds up.
Perhaps I felt so awful because I don’t drink regularly. For 99 per cent of the time, I’m supremely healthy.
I walk 10,000 steps a day, swim for half an hour every morning and only eat between 12 and 8pm. My drink of choice is sparkling water with a squeeze of lemon, or a green juice made from spinach, kale, ginger and lemon that I force myself to drink, despite finding it revolting.
So I find solace in knowing I’m not the only one that lapses occasionally.
British women top the list of the world’s biggest female drinkers. A report by the Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development indicated that 26 per cent of us consume at least six drinks in one session every month.
The latest available figures show that binge drinking among middle-aged women increased by 57 per cent between 2016 and 2019. I can’t help but worry about the toll it must take on our bodies. Unlike our generation, youngsters appear to have woken up to perils of booze.
Alcohol charity Drinkaware surveyed more than 5,200 young adults aged 18-24 across the UK and found that an increasing number of them are ditching drink, rising from 14 per cent in 2017 to 21 per cent in 2023.
I’ve always had a tendency to binge, which is classified as drinking more than three pints of medium-strength beer, or five small glasses of wine, in one sitting.
As a student, I felt no ill effects. I’d brush myself off after knocking back pints of beer all night.
In my 20s, ladette culture exploded, with celebrities including Zoe Ball and Denise van Outen proving women could party just as hard as men.
I was working as a journalist by then and if I walked into the office with a Diet Coke and a bacon sarnie, colleagues knew what I had been up to the night before.
This would be followed by crisps, chocolate and more sandwiches until I waddled my way home.
But my metabolism was speedy back then and I rarely went above a size eight.
I’ve also had long periods where I haven’t touched a drop of booze.
When I was pregnant with my sons — now 17 and 14 — I was teetotal.
And in their early years, I rarely drank – I couldn’t face a hangover with two lively boys needing my attention.
Proceeded to eat my way through the sort
of menu that would make a sumo wrestler proud.
I was diagnosed with breast cancer in 2017 and stopped drinking completely while having treatment.
More recently, I ditched booze when preparing for a hysterectomy in February — and for weeks afterwards, to give myself the best chance of healing.
Despite being plunged into menopause, I felt better than ever.
My clothes grew loose on me, my skin glowed and I felt on an even keel.
Despite that, I’ve been out a couple of times since, warning my husband Brian, 52, who works in marketing, that he’s on parent duty.
With my mates, the drinks will flow. At our age, we’re coping with teenagers, elderly parents, menopause, work worries and friends falling ill.
So it’s good to let it all out and have a laugh. But the next morning, I really suffer.
The daily swim goes out of the window and Deliveroo comes through the door.
My friends laugh at the amount I can eat and demand WhatsApp lists of what I’ve scoffed.
But I hate falling off the wagon. I feel sluggish, my clothes feel tight and my face puffy.
At my age, weight goes on alarmingly quickly and comes off painfully slowly. And I’m very aware of the health implications.
Technically, I’m not lying when I tell my GP I drink rarely. But who am I kidding?
There are ten units in a bottle of wine, so by drinking two in a night, I’m well over the recommended 14 per week.
And the assault on my liver is worse when it’s such a concentrated amount.
I want to be one of those people that has a glass of wine with a meal and then potters home.
But it just isn’t the way I operate.
Although it’s rare for me to have a blowout, I know it isn’t good for me — and my scales agree.
So I think the booze binges will get further and further apart — until they finally stop altogether.
