Welcome one and all to the cocktail enjoyment process.
First, may I begin by saying that I’ve been on holiday to Brighton today, and none of you have. Hah.
I shall now dispense the beveragatude as rapidly as possible, before my computer performs its special move again – the “stop working when the weather is hot” manoeuvre.
In order of requestification, here are your drinks.
Karen has been waiting all day for a bucks fizz in a plastic glass, and has had to make do with the house white from one of the beach bars.
BrightonMark… I mean, LondonMark, wants a prosecco. I’ve never tried drinking ham myself, but Mark’s a man of taste, so it must be nice.
Adrian’s request confused me, so I didn’t read too hard, but I did pick up on the word lemon. So here’s how to make a battery from a lemon. D requested what Adrian’s having, which I’m sure he regrets now.
Porkless asked for a pint, so here’s a photo of a kitten called Guinness.
Lyle wanted a screwdriver, so he gets MC Hammer. You can’t drink this.
For Nicholas, also a pint. My warped imagination led me to a page about Captain John Smith.
What’s that you say about search engines. No, not me. Never.
Dan made a mention of a pan-galactic gargle blaster. Unfortunately, the recipe that I found on the web looked a little disappointing, so I’m giving you a Babycham instead. And your request for “every beer in the house” is not acceptable – what do you expect me to have for myself? Silly mortal.
Gordon M Clean requested a margarita, which just so happens to be exactly what I had with my lunch today. By which I mean, I’ve already had your drink, Gordon. Sorry. Have a kitten instead. These clearly belong to a beer fanatic.
Dave requested some complex drink. Had he known that I would be serving, he probably wouldn’t have done so. The quickest way to get a glass of water from me is to request something complex. I’ve got lots of customers to serve here.
Krissa would like ten cosmos. Ten seconds on Google later… that’s cool – she’s getting that. Sorry, no refunds.
For Graybo, a “Witty Caption”, which is 250 ml of each of gin, meths, vermouth and creme de menthe. Surely something that didn’t leave you without the ability to read would be more appropriate? Ah well… it’s your eyetest.
Mr. D requested a Smirnoff Blue. Y’see, that’s the kind of customer I like. Up front, nothing too flash, buys the barman “one for himself”… what a guy.
Today’s guest of honour is Kate. Not only has she sent me a parcel full of CDs all the way from America, but she’s also about to move from some retarded backwater of America to le Yorque Nouveau, and she drinks beer! Hurrah!
(As an aside, if anyone from Shepherd Neame picks up on that last link and would be interested in exchanging bottles of your tastiest consumables for further coverage, please drop me an email by clicking on the “contact” link at the top of the page. Thanks.)
Right, you’ve got ten minutes to drink up. It’s taken me so fucking long to serve you rapscallions, we’ve passed last orders. When you’re done, hop into my minibus and I’ll take you back to my place for the orgy. I mean, the after party.