Mr Bridger
Sound of the suburbs
When I wake up after a night on the grog, my mouth tastes like the bottom of a birdcage and is drier than Gandhi's flipflop, so the LAST thing I'd want to do is tip some lukewarm piss lager or wine from the night before into it.
I'll tell you what I do. I stumble into the bathroom, brush my teeth, use some mouthwash, then slope downstairs for a glass of ice cold orange juice whilst the menthol is still in its ascendancy. Then I'll go back to bed utterly refreshed, and hopefully continue my dream about licking black cherry yogurt from Myleene Klasses's bellybutton.
See the edit button’s been activated on this analogy. Bellybutton