The very first time I was on the sea was when I was 19 on a cross-channel ferry
. The duty free was enthusiastically indulged, as was the bar, and when the puke started cycling down the passageways, I decided that the quaint sort of park bench welded to the foredeck was a better (and nicer smelling) place to be.
I found out later that we'd had a Force 8-9 on the beam most of the way. That explained how I bit my tongue, anyway. Also explains the puke on the ceiling, too, I suppose.