One Over The Eight

The Third of October Two Thousand and Eleven. Monday.

I don't really understand Drink. That's Drink, the noun with a capital 'D'. I don't have a problem with drink, the verb ('Over Macho Grande? I don't think I'll ever get over Macho Grande...) I can even do that drinking out of a glass backwards thing that gets rid of hiccups.

But Drink as in alcohol. It's never made complete sense to me.

Sorry, don't know why I put that there. I'm out of my head on Yellow Bentines.

As I went through my teenage years I made the traditional progression from cider to lager. At some point in a pub in Bolton I made the transition to Guinness as my beer of choice, but I think this is as much an affectation as anything else. Choice of booze seems to be a a fashion statement and I've never had the first clue about that either (although I did cut a dash round and about Robin Hood's Bay yesterday in my cardigan full of holes. Turned heads it did).  I guess with the Guinness I'm trying to be a little less obvious, but it's still Rutger Hauer and white horses in the surf type expensive advertising campaign stuff isn't it? Rather tha micro brewery real ale that nobody's heard of. My friend the American Pop Cultural Attaché has been known to frequent beer festivals - there's actual photographic evidence of it on the interweb - so maybe she understands the subtle differences between one beer and another. But it's something I've never been able to get my head around.

Oh, and don't ask me about wine. I only drank white for many years - don't know why, just force of habit. I had a rioja once and liked it so I might have a glass of that as a safe red, but I can stare at the plonk aisle in the supermarket for, oo, minutes not knowing the difference between a Chardonnay and a Cabernet Sauvignon. Like so many things, I suppose it wouldn't be impossible to cultivate a taste for this stuff but I've never really enjoyed drinking. No, really. The horrible spinny dizziness and gut rot that comes with it all has never really appealed. I've just had a glass tonight cos my neck muscles are all knotted up and tied in a bow but it occurs to me that it is weeks since I last touched a drop. I enjoy the conversation that flows after a drink or two but it's a means to an end rather than something I actively seek out.

I don't know why, but this is beginning to feel like a confession or an apology. Because I like tart flavours I have been know to take vodka with lime. But I am absolutely clueless about spirits. Never really got whiskey - won a bottle in a raffle and had no more than a glass - can't remember if I've ever seriously encountered gin or brandy. Wouldn't know what to do with a cocktail.

Is it that part of me that refuses to be an adult? I've already stated my preference for Irn Bru. I've never wanted to learn to drive. I shirk responsibility on a regular basis. Is that it? All the adverts for booze these days come with the disclaimer 'please enjoy responsibly'. Am I not responsible enough to truly understand liquor?

I wouldn't mind, but there's a brand of gin called Hendrick's - you think I'd enjoy that.

Apparently it's blended with cucumber and rose petals though, so that's a write-off (or a right-off. What's the correct expression?) They're suggesting cucumber as the garnish instead of a citrus fruit too. That's what I mean, I don't get any of it. I'm naturally suspicious of cucumber to begin with. I'm wary of a fruit that pretends to be a vegetable just to get in salads (I feel that way about tomatoes too - dreadful things).

This hasn't helped. I'm still none the wiser as to the esoteric appeal of booze. I think I'll have a nightcap and sleep on it.

More soonliest.