A hell of a way to wake up.

A hangover. A real classic, gut-churning, head-splitting hangover. A dry-mouthed, blurred-vision ordeal of pain and nausea.

A time to moan gently, move with inch-by-inch care. A time when even tender loving care is too much, when all you want is to be left alone in silence.

Above all, not a time to find your room invaded by very angry cops, to see a dead man, pyjama-clad, hand clutching your own gun, lying on your floor. Not a time to discover his brains splattered and matted into your long-haired bedroom rug.

A hell of a way to wake up.