The Old Bull and Johnson

 I have in my hand a copy of the Beer Drinker's Companion by Frank Baillie. It was published in 1973 and my copy is dated 1974. It is a comprehensive guide to the beers that were available at the time and, full disclosure, of which I took refreshment. In addition, I own a well used Edinburgh Pub Guide - The Lore o' Reekie's Howffs and Hostelries - Published in 1976 by ' Pubs Board' (nothing to do with drinking I suppose...Ed?) Edinburgh University Students Publication Board since you ask. The Star Tavern ( 63 in the book, now the Star Bar.) was my local when I lived in Edinburgh. Very local I lived about 5 metres verically from the front door. The point is that despite my current  state of sobriety I know that of which I write and so...

 It is with great sadness, therefore, that I have to announce the death of the Pub.

Having survived years of religious persecution, a reletless bombing campaign by the Luftwaffe, the IRA and various rightwing and homophobic individuals the PUB was finally dealt the Coup de Grace by a Mr Boris Johnson, a Prime Mincer, who is described being as fit as an undertaker's dog, possibly.

The PUB RIP 2020

 

 

What's your poison?

I was reading a post in the blog by David Spiegelhalter, Understanding Uncertainty, titled
Medicine, poison poison, poison. 
It contained the paragraph:-

At one unit a day (half a standard glass of wine), they estimate a tiny overall benefit for men and a slightly larger, but still small, overall benefit for women. But the Department of Health appears very eager to avoid the message of “a small glass of something for medicinal purposes”.

 That phrase “a small glass of something for medicinal purposes” pinged my short term memory to the day before when I had seen the women behind me in the supermarket queue load 3 bottles of Sonatogen Tonic Wine on to the belt and cover them with a large bag of spinach. Of course it could be that she was in need of a tonic or was short in the iron department or even that it was her tipple of choice, god bless her. Who am I to point the finger of shame having drunk more than my lifetime's allocation of red wine and other electric soups but I do love that - medicinal purposes.

(I feel in the interest of balance I should point out other health promoting  beverages are available; didn't Harold Wilson enjoy the odd 7 pint party can of Hall's Tonic Wine and your own good parents treat the family to a bottle of Buckfast -Bucky- at Christmas time... Ed)

In vino veritas

Thinking Clearly About Nothing

Full disclosure. In case some poor benighted soul thinks that the title of this post is spiritually related to the title of this blog, tough. Go seek enlightenment on someone else's doorstep! I believe Mother Carey welcomes dreamers.
I picked up on the Brain Pickings post about alcohol and the brain. The conclusion of this (Canadian (?) aren't we all now) comic strip is that the Devil's Buttermilk enables us to think clearly about almost nothing. A little harsh I feel, especially as I gave up the DB almost 2 years to the day now under starter's orders.  I do not consider myself to think clearly as a result and I am buggered if I can remember what it was that I was thinking about anyway... The U Tube video gives a link to all sorts of helpful little videos about drugs and a very useful reminder about hangover amelioration. May come in useful this time of year. I'm off to make a cup of tea, lashings of hot tea! It's cold enough to have the nuts off a nun here and the starter would judge my efforts to cut down on the caffeine as woeful anyway. One drug at a time sweet J, I say, one drug at a time.

Drouthy, Very Drouthy

It's been hell out here Gideon, you have no idea what life is like for the little people.
First there was the hosepipe ban.
Then there was the petrol shortage.
And now, sob, even the bloody Belgians are lamenting the desertification of Mid Suffolk.

Finally the worst; this sign seen in the, empty, car park of our local.

Philosophy and Drink!

John Naughton in The Observer (1/4/2012) complains, a little, about a certain Mr Heidegger.
His not unreasonable grumble reminded me of Freddie Jevons, who had the privilege to teach me at postgraduate level in the (19) seventies. Yes I am that old. Freddie used to complain in his highly polished mittle european accent that " Philosophers are only paid to argue vith each osser!" 

Amen to that Freddie old son!

That reminded me of Monty Python's  Philosopher's Song. Not a yearning lieder for truth or beauty, nor yet a cantata for clarity in language or even a lament for logic, more about booze. It is alleged that Mr Heidegger was a boozy  beggar who could think you under the table and as for Mr Kant, a real puisant,  it is claimed that he was very rarely stable!
A whiff of M. Descartes position, philosophically speaking, can be judged from the claim attributed to him, without prejudice of course, that  "I drink therefore I am."
This may be relevant for April the 1st or not; you may judge for yourself at the link here.

So if you value your brain and your liver, give up the philosophy as well as the booze!

Many thanks to our Correspondent from Oz who pointed out the ditty to me originally

A Good Time Had By All

These are interesting times.
These are momentous times.
These times will be remembered.
I hope that the incident here, in which Paul Farelly MP allegedly defends his honour, integrity and physical person in the PoW , passes into the language.

The altercation is described as taking place at a karaoke party at Parliament's Sports and Social club. It sounds like a real doozie. I can see the excuses flying:

How did you get that black eye?
At a karaoke party at the PoW Sports and Social club!

Where did you meet such a slapper, he(she) is just so not your type?
At a karaoke party at the PoW Sports and Social club!

Where did you say the minister stood on the table, hitched her skirt into her knickers, danced in the Cossack style and sang the red flag?
At a karaoke party at the PoW Sports and Social club!

Snuff will no longer be kicked about at wakes it will head straight for - a karaoke party at the PoW Sports and Social club!

Well, in Hard Times it's good to know someone is having fun - and where would that be?
All together now...

The dirty digger can drink his heart out

I am reliably informed by esteemed colleague Memex 1.1 that Flann O’Brien's Research Bureau had solved the problem of tinternet and journalism before it was even invented. Smart boy wanted as it were!

I do not remember the column or if I do a surfeit of Trink has done its work. However, I too believe that we are onto something here.

But why stop at journos, who are notoriously undiscerning when it comes to booze.

I think we could develop a niche market with Trink in the book trade all we need for the future is the electronic version.

Just think about it:-
Homage to Catalonia:- fumes of La Rioja or Penedes wafting from every page of the electronic Trink and to fund it, there, the offer of a lifetime, locked into your Kindle or Sony E-reader.
Buy your own vineyard!
Invest in the future of Tempranillio!

The House of Bernada Alba:-
Wafts of mothballs, and lavender.
However, cunningly, underneath these overtones the brazen, saline sensuality of Manzanilla, the bargainbasement enjoyment of Montilla-Moriles.

At a tangent:-
Once upon a long time ago in a far distant land, La Rioja, I remember standing around in a garage with a guy known to all but himself as Garbanzo. He proffered the potable result of his vinicultural endeavours out of large green plastic containers. Un be fucking lieve able. It was white, it came from La Rioja but it would never pass the test, it would never be certified but, Jesus, you could drink it till the cows came home.