Today I have a hangover. A big one. One of Olympic proportions.

For two weeks I have been bingeing on sport, scandal and Swisse multi-vitamin ads – staying up til all hours of the night drinking in as much live sport as humanly possible.

Whether it was the fine wine that was the Equestrian or the shot of Jagermeister that was the 100m sprint, I consumed everything in sight.

For a fortnight I have been drunk on sport. Loudly opining on the merits of the butterfly kick in swimming, sneering at a missed shot in the basketball, leering at the Rhythmic Gymnastics – acting like a proper lout and offering my uneducated insight on… well everything really.

Overnight, I had become an armchair expert – arguing with my friends over what the best tactics in the Marathon are, nodding in agreement when the commentators made statements like “that pike was a bit loose, it might cost the Belarusian a medal.”

Worse still – at some point during those two weeks, Australia stopped competing in the Olympics, and apparently I took over instead – “We won gold in the sailing last night!”, “USA smashed us in the basketball.”, “When did we get so shit at swimming?”.

And then, all of a sudden, it was over. I awoke on Monday morning feeling extremely disoriented and confused.

My Olympics hangover has brought with it many questions. Where did the last 14 days go? What did I find so interesting about the 50km Walk? Why do I care about cycling so much?

Most importantly – what the hell am I supposed to talk to my friends about now? If the Olympics has taught me anything (apart from the absurd rules to some obscure sports), it’s that my television viewing habits pretty much define my social interaction with friends. If I couldn’t quote Seinfeld or South Park verbatim, I don’t think I’d understand half of what our conversations are about.

So please excuse me while I go channel-surf to find something else to talk about.