Everyone talks about how your twenties are a period of change physically, emotionally and financially; of self-discovery and exploration and excitement. But no one talks about the hangover.

Not the metaphorical kind; the head pounding, nauseating kind that greets you in your late twenties.

I long for the days when I was twenty-one, when I could easily make fresh bread, go on a hike and write a book the day after clubbing two nights in a row.