"DRINK ME."

This tiny tumbler of liquid hand grenade appeared almost magically before me on the table at at my work's dinner dance, a nightcap before the long bus ride home in the wee small hours of this morning.

Of unknown origin and beguilingly tasting of aniseed, it helped to usher me into the wonderland of a hangover as the Sun was about rise - and the reflection in the bathroom mirror that greeted me certainly wasn't that of the Cheshire Cat.