Don't knock it 'till you try it.
Wise words to live by - most of the time.
However, there are certain things you do not need to experience first hand, to know they are bad news.
Super Sundays are one of those things.
For those not in the know, Super Sundays occur
when, following a big night out on a Saturday, you continue to keep drinking throughout the day to stave off the inevitable hangover.
Several of my acquaintances swear by the method and practice it on a regular basis.
But it has never held any appeal for me.
Sundays are for brunching, napping and generally feeling sorry for myself, perhaps with a dash of domestic admin if my head can handle it.
However, last weekend I finally conceded to the peer pressure, joining Flicker and the architect aboard a friend's boat for a Super Sunday.
And I have to say, it was good fun. The fresh sea air quickly cleared my foggy head and after a couple of vinos I was even up for swimming.
In fact, it seemed just minutes had passed before we were hauling the anchor to return home again.
As we headed back to the city, the skipper suggested a quick coffee in the Viaduct, which is where we came unstuck.
After grabbing a table at a nearby bar, we decided coffee was over-rated and ordered a round of Moscow Mules instead.
And another.
And another.
Before I knew it, it was after ten and Flicker was dancing on the bar in a red cowboy hat.
In a flash of sanity I excused myself and jumped in the nearest taxi.
But it was too late. The damage was done.
Super Sundays may be fun but ultimately equate to rather painful Mondays.
Live and learn? This is one lesson I could have done without.
For anyone else contemplating a Super Sunday this weekend, I strongly advise against it.
Some things are just bad news.
