Right in the middle of the whole thing I got a call from Karl Stefanovic, who literally begged me to come with him to the ASFA dinner that night, where he’d been retained to tell a few of his lame jokes and be generally inappropriate. Its nice work if you can get it, I always tell him.
Karl and I are old friends, having met at one of Alan Jones’ trivia nights, so I was happy to help as long as he promised me that the dinner would be “all you can drink” affair and that RSA would refer not to responsible drinking but the South African cricket team.
After all, I’m not going to put up with that sort of crowd unless I can get absolutely plastered, which I proceeded to do and then tripped the light fantastic on the dance floor with some IT manager from what she said was a “middle office solutions vendor,” whatever that means.
The only trouble was that I woke up on Friday with a screaming hangover again, but help was at hand.
One of my other theories is about hangover food and one of the all time best cures for hangovers is a greasy sausage roll. So I fell out of bed on Friday, skulled a berocca and headed back to ASFA again for morning tea.
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