The blanket you wake up under after a night of hard shitty drinking in which you have partial blackout memory, except for the few fragments of things you said and did that you really DON'T want to know about, but can't quite piece together either. The embarrassment and self-hatred turn the stomach in symbiosis with the general effects of a cracker of a hangover. You retreat under the asshole blanket, head and all, trying to forget that you even exist, wishing you didn't, and hiding from the entire world for the next day or so. Yes, you are an asshole, and you know it. 
Pub landlady calls for warning signs to be installed at dangerous
T-junction after NINE vehicles plunge into river or fly through her beer
garden fence
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Barbara Smith, who runs The Woolpack in the village of Sopley, Dorset, said
drivers were consistently caught out by a T-junction followed by a sharp
bend a...
3 hours ago
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