You know when you wake up the morning after a night of boozing, full of dread at something terrible that happened the night before, that you were fully responsible for but can't quite remember and really don't want to remember....?

Have you ever been fortunate enough to discover that the 'bad thing' is actually pretty fucking good?

My older brother woke up on Sunday morning and left, white as a sheet, without saying a word for fear of the 'bad thing'. Turned out we'd tricked him into buying us all Iron Maiden tickets. NOT A BAD THING AT ALL!

Lucky punk.