Rethink your 13th drink. A cautionary​ tale from a school mum.

Last week, the door of the canteen opened and a very ashen face Mrs. Walsh walked in. She announced that she was feeling dreadful.

It turned out that the evening before, she had used her body as a filtration system for a bottle and a half of red wine. Now, I wasn’t sure whether being rostered on for a canteen duty with a force ten hangover was a good thing, or a really very bad thing.


A plethora of available baked goods at your fingertips

A large fridge stocked with every beverage known to woman, including chocolate milk which I always find soothing.

Sympathetic company apart from Patricia who told her that she was ridiculous to be binge drinking on a school night, or any night that matter as she hasn’t had an alcoholic drink since her 40th, after she saw a video of herself telling everyone how much she loved them. Patricia is now 79.


Noise. It is very noisy and the canteen manager is a yeller and micro-manages EVERYTHING.

Serving slack jawed teenager, who despite having stranded in the line for ten minutes do not know what they want to order.

Mental computation.

She did quite well even though the shift was very busy. I was telling her to have a sausage roll with sauce, a chocolate milk then a packet of chips. But every time I made a suggestion, she turned a little greener.

It reminded me of the time that I had the worst hangover in my life, a tale I will now share with you. You see, I had finished breastfeeding Jack when the mothers and the local child care centre organised a Mum’s Night Out. Having been basically booze free for two and a half years due to being on a breeding program, I was ready.

Nice dinner, many wines. This group of ladies had form! Then, the most evil one suggested we go to the pub because there was a live band and we needed to dance. When we got there, she ordered a round of shots and from there, I pretended I was a schoolie on the Gold Coast.

The next morning, I remember lying on the kitchen floor with my face taking in some soothing comfort from the cold tiles. Mr. Woog rushed in with his suitcase and announced he was off to Melbourne for a meeting and would be back tomorrow.

I looked at the baby, who was lying on the play mat without a nappy, and then observed with horror as he did a Mr. Whippy all over the mat. Then rolled around a bit on it.

The toddler started chucking a huge fucking tantrum about it and I had no choice but to take a deep breath, and sort out the situation.

I recall that day being one of the longest of my life, and it the hangover that I use as a benchmark for all that came afterwards.

At exactly 1.23pm Mrs. Walsh announced that she eventually felt fine. I asked if I could blog her story and she was fine with it, as she thought it might help others out there, to rethink that 13th drink.

Do you have a super hangover story of note?