Saturday, July 23, 2005  

Bulbs, booze and hairy evil bastards.

I now know why energy saving light bulbs save energy. They emit a miniscule amount of light. We had one in the hall, it blew this morning, I made a mental note to get another. So I was stood in front of the bulb shelf in our local greedymart pondering the con that is energy saving light bulbs. As an unemployed person, should I pay £6 for a replacement, or get a box of eight normal energy guzzling ones for less than £2 ? The choice was easy, and as I type this our hall is lit up like a fucking runway beacon.

Look at these dirty horrible bastards, I shudder to even think what would possess someone to do this. In fact they need a fucking slap, just encouraging the hairy evil fuckers to come near people.

Now a little poetry, two in fact and both about my favourite hobby – booze.

The Fall
Fergus Allen

The Garden of Eden (described in the Bible)
Was Guinness's Brewery (mentioned by Joyce),
Where innocent Adam and Eve were created
And dwelt from necessity rather than choice;

For nothing existed but Guinness's Brewery,
Guinness's Brewery occupied all,
Guinness's Brewery everywhere, anywhere -
Woe that expulsion succeeded the Fall!

The ignorant pair were encouraged in drinking
Whatever they fancied whenever they could,
Except for the porter or stout which embodied
Delectable knowledge of Evil and Good.

In Guinness's Brewery, innocent, happy,
They tended the silos and coppers and vats,
They polished the engines and coopered the barrels
And even made pets of the Brewery rats.

One morning while Adam was brooding and brewing
It happened that Eve had gone off on her own,
When a serpent like ivy slid up to her softly
And murmured seductively, Are we alone?

O Eve, said the serpent, I beg you to sample
A bottle of Guinness's excellent stout,
Whose nutritive qualities no one can question
And stimulant properties no one can doubt;

It's tonic, enlivening, strengthening, heartening,
Loaded with vitamins, straight from the wood,
And further enriched with the not undesirable
Lucrative knowledge of Evil and Good.

So Eve was persuaded and Adam was tempted,
They fell and they drank and continued to drink,
(their singing and dancing and shouting and prancing
Prevented the serpent from sleeping a wink).

Alas, when the couple had finished the barrel
And swallowed the final informative drops,
They looked at each other and knew they were naked
And covered their intimate bodies with hops.

The anger and rage of the Lord were appalling,
He wrathfully cursed them for taking to drink
And hounded them out of the Brewery, followed
By beetles (magenta) and elephants (pink).

The crapulous couple emerged to discover
A universe full of diseases and crimes,
Where porter could only be purchased for money
In specified places at specified times.

And now in this world of confusion and error
Our only salvation and hope is to try
To threaten and bargain our way into Heaven
By drinking the heavenly Brewery dry.

A drink with something in it.
Ogden Nash.

There is something about a Martini,
A tingle remarkably pleasant;
A yellow, a mellow martini;
I wish that I had one at present.
There is something about a martini,
Ere the dining and dancing begin,
And to tell you the truth,
It is not the Vermouth –
I think that perhaps it’s the Gin.

There is something about an Old fashioned
That kindles a cardiac glow;
It is soothing and soft and impassioned
As a lyric by Swinburne or Poe.
There is something about an Old fashioned
When dusk has enveloped the sky,
And it may be the ice,
Or the Pineapple slice,
But I strongly suspect it’s the Rye.

There is something about a mint julep.
It is nectar imbibed in a dream,
As fresh as the bud of a Tulip,
As cool as the bed of a stream.
There is something about a mint julep,
A fragrance beloved by the lucky.
And perhaps it’s the tint
Of the frost and the mint,
But I think it was born in Kentucky.

There is something they put in a highball
That awakens the torpidest brain,
That kindles a spark in the eyeball,
Gliding singing through vein after vein.
There is something they put in a highball
Which you’ll notice one day if you watch;
And it may be the soda,
But judged by the odour,
I rather believe it’s the Scotch.

Then here’s to a heartening wassail,
Wherever good fellows are found;
Be it master instead of its vassal,
And order the glasses around.
For there’s something they put in a wassail
That prevents it from tasting like wicker;
Since it’s not tapioca,
Or mustard or mocha,
I’m forced to conclude it’s the liquor

| posted by Simon | 11:46 pm | 0 comments
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