Brandy. I don't even like brandy. So I blame the second huge goblet of the stuff for what happened next. We're at X's parents and somewhat tipsy. I go to the toilet and drunkenly pick something nasty out of my nose. I hear a cough and realise the father is outside smoking a cigarette and watching me through the window. Awkward. So we finally go to bed. It's very dark and I have a coughing fit in bed. Cough cough cough. Then I cough so hard that I vomit into my hand. Oh god! Nasty! No time to get dressed so I run to the toilet naked, handful of sick, noticing on the way that the parents don't seem to close their bedroom door. I'm violently and noisily sick for some time. With a sigh I sneak past the open parental bedroom again, still naked. Breakfast is quite quiet in the morning and I have to say that the boiled eggs are a bit of a struggle.
(Thoughtful notes: The events reminded me of someone's tale of being sick in their sock at someone's parents' house and then blundering into their room with sick-sock in hand whilst looking for the bathroom. Can't remember whose story it was but I always aspired to match it)