Breakfast of champions


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.


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