Which dodgy British hangover cure actually deserves a place in the medicine cabinet?

Bacon, sausage, beans, black pudding and a fried slice weaponised against your own bad decisions. Half the country swears by it, the other half can barely lift the fork.

The luminous orange elixir that Scots insist is the only true cure. Whether it's the sugar, the caffeine or sheer national pride is anyone's guess.

Warm, cheap and inhaled on the walk from the bus stop. The unofficial breakfast of Broken Britain and a proud hangover institution.

Morley's, Chicken Cottage or your dodgy local — the strip meal that soaks up regret at 2pm on a Sunday. Not glamorous, but neither are you right now.

Some brave soul always claims hydration and a brisk walk did the trick. We don't believe them, but we admire the commitment to the bit.