I was in Auckland last weekend picking up a travel writing award.
The champagne flowed freely.
I passed out in a pile of debris from the mini bar.
The next day I was booked in to do a travel story so the hangover that so desperately wanted to remain horizontal was forced to rise and face the day.
Then I discovered these little beauties at the breakfast buffet.
As hard as it was to touch anything even remotely resembling a shot glass, after drinking my body-weight in booze the night before, I downed these breakfast shooters and within seconds my knickers were once again on the outside of my pants and I was superman/superwriter/writerman/inkslinger … ready to face the day.
I won’t even pretend I know what was in them.