There's only three certainties in life: death, taxes and the inevitable increase in hangover potency that accompanies old age. Now that I've hit my mid fourties, I find that it takes around three days before I can claim my place in the human race after even the most moderate of binge.
Of course, the inevitably of all that pain has meant that Jaegermeister post pub drinking contests have fallen into free fall on my weekly priorities list - perhaps bottoming out with a desire stick a rusty compass in my own eyeball. Still, some social situations - awkward parties at the in-laws, black tie work events, and such - demand that a modicum of mjoito needs to be imbibed in order to ensure some semblance of self-preservation. Read more.