The shit blog of Paul Chris Jones

Dear Diary. Last night, I stayed out until past midnight with some of the dads from the school.

And now it's the morning after and I feel hungover. All I had was one glass of wine. I AM HUNGOVER FROM ONE GLASS OF WINE. Fuck sake. I'm not going out until 1 am again. If I have to go out then I want to be back by 9 pm to get my pyjamas and slippers on and be in bed.

Ideally, today, I should be doing nothing at all. I want to lie on the sofa and nurse my one-glass-of-wine hangover.

Instead, we're going to the beach.

I can't complain though because it was my stupid idea. It was me who suggested going. I suggested it yesterday. God damn Past Me.

"Is that all you're wearing?" Girlfriend asks me.

I'm wearing swimming trunks and a t-shirt. Specifically, bright red swimming trunks with pictures of trees on them.

We're going to the beach. What else does she want me to wear? An Eskimo coat? Skis?

"Yeah," I say.

"You're going to be cold," says Girlfriend. Then she thinks for a moment. "I'm going to pack you some underpants," she says firmly, then turns to the wardrobe to find my underpants.

How are underpants going to make me warmer? Okay, they might make my penis and bum warmer, but not the rest of my body.

By the way, my fun and colourful swimming trunks in no way represent my mood. I just want everyone to fuck off and leave me alone today.

We put all the beach stuff into bags and walk to the car. Obviously, I'm driving because Girlfriend doesn't know how and 3-year-old's slightly too young, as he's only three.

On the drive to the beach, 3-year-old falls asleep. I'm jealous. I wish I could fall asleep too. But I can't because I'm driving. Sometimes it sucks to be an adult.

I guess technically I could fall asleep, but then Girlfriend's screams would probably wake me up a few seconds later as we careen into a ditch. So it's not worth it because I'd only be asleep for a few seconds.

Weirdly, my driving is better when I'm hungover. I'm slower and take more care. I should be hungover every time I drive. Fuck that, I should be hungover all the time. Maybe it would give me improvements in other aspects of life as well, like basic human interaction and rollerblading.

I take a swig of tea from my thermal flask. One of the best things I've ever bought is this thermal flask. It cost only €15 and it keeps drinks warm. Get a thermal flask. Do it, now. I’ve put tea in mine today which means I can have a nice sip of hot tea whenever I want. It's really good. This thermal flask, hands-down, is the best thing in my life today. Way better than my wife and son, who aren't even on my list of best things in my life on account of them being annoying.

We get to the beach. It's almost empty. Where are the people? The weather's nice. Not hot, not cold, but just right, like Goldilock's porridge.

I swim in the sea for a bit. I have goggles on and I can see everything under the water. The last time I did this, I saw jellyfish and almost died of terror. This time there's no jellyfish, just normal fish. There's one fish that follows me around everywhere. It's about a foot long and creeping me out. I get out of the water.

The beach is beautiful. The water is clear and sparkling. The weather is warm and the sand is golden. And I'm too tired to appreciate it. Those other dads last night, they did this to me, the fucking bastards. They made me stay out until almost 1 am.

One of the dads is here now. His name is Eloi and he's asleep on the sand. Fucking bastard. How dare he sleep when I'm tired like this. He's brought his three-year-old daughter too, Bruna. So now there are two three-year-olds, mine and his. Have you ever had to deal with two three-year-olds while hungover? I hope you never have to. Actually, I hope you do, because you're a person and therefore I hate you.

6 pm

3-year-old's putting Brazil nuts in his mouth and then spitting them out onto the floor. At least he's doing something constructive? What's constructive about spitting Brazil nuts out onto the floor though, I haven't figured out yet.

Then 3-year-old runs out of the room. While I'm cleaning up half-masticated Brazil nuts from the floor, I hear 3-year-old say, "Look, Daddy". I look up and he has an umbrella hanging off each ear. Full-sized umbrellas.

"That's good, very good," I say.

It's not very good though. It's average at best.

Ginger

It's 9 pm and I'm eating raw ginger in a desperate attempt to increase my testosterone. Ginger is supposed to increase your testosterone, according to some website I came across yesterday.

Girlfriend's watching. "You should ground up the ginger and put it into a drink," she suggests.

"I don't have time for that," I say. "I'm just going each it raw."

So I cut it up into pieces and I eat it, piece after piece. Christ, raw ginger is strong. Is this supposed to increase my testosterone? If this is what it takes to become a man, I'd rather chop my balls off and become a woman, thanks.

How can ginger taste so strong? It's like an insult to your mouth. It's only supposed to be a herb, isn't it? HOW IS IT SO STRONG??

I find myself gagging. The ginger's burning my throat.

Next, I start hiccuping. "The ginger's given me hiccups," I say while hiccuping. I have ginger hiccups.

Fucking ginger. Not only is ginger hair colour the worst one (just ask my friendless, virgin, ginger next-door neighbour, Andrew) but ginger also makes you hiccup. If ginger were running for Prime Minister, there's no way I'd vote for it.