Peking ducked to near death

I have a food hangover.
Yesterday afternoon, we starved ourselves purposely, in order to work up the appetite of a mammouth for a trot to a Chinese restaurant.
I'm not a fan, but Peking Duck and pancakes, rice noodles and beansprouts and a few other things can stir up the compulsive side to my personality. Washed down with Chinese beer of course. Hic.
We had a little trouble getting a decent table, as the maitre d' tried to seat us next to a pair of bloody noisy finger lickers. I had clocked them before we sat down and Fur sorted the situation before I poked one of them with a conveniently placed pair of chopsticks.
Fortunately, were left in peace for a decadent meal of various stuff and ting, including, for myself, about 7 peking duck pancakes, noodles, shredded beef in chilli sauce, rice, pancake rolls and spare ribs.
I could have eaten more. That's what I said before we got home and I felt the beginning of a hernia setting in.
Never mind the Zantac. I needed a stomach pump.
Once or twice a year I behave like this. I rarely eat a lot. Even Maria was slightly pissed off with the fact that I'd left my mashed potato at 'The Mole'.
This morning, I woke up feeling ghastly and have been feeling pretty dreadful all day. Of course I've sworn never to do it again (don't we all?) and can't bring myself to upload any pictures of the epic culinary voyage.