Which dodgy British hangover cure do you actually swear by the morning after?

Bacon, eggs, beans, the lot — drowning your sorrows in saturated fat at the local greasy spoon. Some swear it resurrects them; others say it just delays the inevitable.

That radioactive orange fizz that allegedly cures anything from a stubbed toe to a three-day bender. Is it the sugar, the caffeine, or pure Caledonian witchcraft?

Wobbling into the nearest Greggs at 11am to inhale something warm and meaty. The queue alone is a form of penance.

The deeply suspect logic of drinking more alcohol to fix the alcohol problem. Either genius or the first step on a very slippery slope.

A fizzy orange vitamin tablet, three pints of water, and pretending you're 'detoxing' under the duvet until Match of the Day. Smug but effective.