My years in England seemed to pass in a haze of smoky pubs when I was with my then-boyfriend. His family were dedicated pub warriors breaking new records for after-hours drinking,  and thanks to pub owners who were family friends, many a Sunday was spent in the darkened confines of dining rooms recovering from traditional, heavy roast dinners and too many desserts. Unfortunately, I never liked beer and didn't have the stomach for the hard stuff, so I tended to get bored sitting around after so many hours. Weary of consuming those little bottles or orange juice or other non-alcoholic drinks, I developed a liking for wine even though I'd never been much of a drinker.. One Sunday we attended an event at our usual pub (which was also a hotel) that ran well into the evening. While everyone was getting down on the dance floor or boozing it up, I was getting friendly with a bottle of German liebfraumilch. Novice that I was, I was fooled by the wine's light, fruity flavor and managed to guzzle the entire bottle while completely throwing moderation and common sense to the wind. As the evening went on, everything became hysterically funny and I was giggling like a kid on a rampant sugar high.. It was a blast at first. After all, I was in orbit without leaving Earth...until the room started to spin and the floor wouldn't stay in one place. My dinner hadn't been enough to absorb the alcohol content of one entire bottle, and my head was beginning to feel like it wanted to eject from my body. I don't know how long I sat at my table in a catatonic state, but my boyfriend (I think) noticed me and suggested I go up to our room. I guess I didn't resist, and while I had only vague memories of actually getting to the room, I recalled being dragged/carried to the bed. The ceiling swirled above my head for a few moments before I passed out. Suddenly it was the next day, and I was reeling from the hangover from hell.  The nausea and headache were so bad it was like a jackhammer drilling into my brain aboard a storm-tossed ship. My boyfriend stayed behind at the pub for reasons forgotten, and I assume got me a cab home since I was in no shape to take the train back to London. I almost got there...until I suddenly had to throw up...NOW. I told the driver to pull over and barely managed to get out the door when I threw up all over my suede shoes. If anyone saw me, I didn't care. I remember getting home and collapsing into bed where I stayed miserably hungover until the next day. Needless to say, I haven't touched liebfraumilch since, and it was the only time I ever got that hungover. Lesson learned!