Back from the brink

Waking from my stupor, I clutched my head in agony. It was early 2005 and, like many 20-year-olds, I liked a night out. Only, where most people might go out for a couple of glasses of wine on a Saturday evening, this was a Tuesday morning and I’d spent Monday getting blackout drunk.

‘Ouch!’ I winced, knocking back painkillers.

I checked my mobile for clues, hoping that memories of the past 24 hours would flood back and shed light on my car crash of an evening. But I was met with an array of texts and missed calls from my