HERE'S an addition to the list of things not to do hungover.
If it was just the building of the cot, then sure, it would've probably been bearable.
But it's not just the cot.
It's the moving of furniture, emptying of wardrobes, cleaning, lifting, that comes with it that's the killer.
The timing was perfect.
After drinking my weight in vodka on Saturday and slipping into the abyss that was sleep I woke to what will probably go down as one of the hottest Sundays on record here.
So what better day to play house reshuffle, eh?
There are many, many better days.
As if my head wasn't throbbing enough, it was soon enough time to start shifting bookcases around upstairs in what was now effectively a three-bedroom furnace.
Downstairs, thankfully, was air-conditioned. So for the whole 15 minutes I was down there it was absolute bliss.
The only saving grace was the sweat running down my face and into my mouth was probably still high enough in alcohol content to keep me half-cut all day.
It's the little things that mean the most.
Despite it being relatively painless in the end, it's still going straight on the list.
It was a less-than-fantastic welcome back to the land of the hungover after nearly three weeks alcohol-free.
Enough to send me sober again, at least until the change table arrives.