When I was 17, a mate who lived over the road had a free house for the weekend (as his folks were away) and invited me and some other mates over for a sly drink.
He'd managed to acquire (Probably nicked) a bottle of Raki from his grandad and we got to work smashing that once the limited beers we could blag were gone.
We got so drunk that me and one of my mates ended up fighting in the street for reasons neither of us can remember.
My Mum came charging out of our house over the road in her dressing gown, wielding a sweeping brush to break up the fight and drag me home.
Me and the lad I was fighting with were covered in blood, like some sort of massacre, which caused my poor mother a mild panic! Despite neither of us having anything worse than a split lip and a few grazes.
I went to bed and proceeded to projectile vomit aniseed smelling sick all over half of my bedroom, most of the bathroom (but not actually in the toilet) and all over myself in the middle of the night and was forced to clean it all up the following morning (not fun when you have the worst hangover imaginable)
Not my finest hour.

lol
20 years later and the smell of any aniseed flavored booze (Raki, Ouzo, Pernod, Sambuca) makes my stomach churn.