This afternoon’s cocktails are brought to you with a Hollywood theme, thanks to that piercing-eyed patissier Lyle, who has taken off his pinny for a couple of hours in order to rustle up some star-spangled cocktails and then give you an “I told you so” look.

We’re calling it the Great British Cock Off, because Lyle would like that. All drinkers are in a tent with their own cocktail bar (the cakes are to sustain them if they get hungry during the weekend-long cocktail making session without a break), and at the end they get judged by Ol’ Blue-Eyes and his sidekick Baker Boy K, who has not ordered a cocktail today but was nominated in this role by Lisa.

At the first bench, we have Gordon, and a whole new earworm: the Hippy Hippy Shake. I challenge you to watch this and not smile, also to admire the Tom Cruise connection, which actually was just obvious. But smile, and then consider how this is clearly the prequel of Coyote Ugly.

Behind Gordon, and looking to steal his custard, Clair is making magical margharitas and hugging all her weird cousins and telling us she really, really loves us.

Woody Allen said, “Man cannot live on bread alone. Frequently, there must be a beverage,” and here’s a scene from Manhattan for Pixeldiva, which she should probably not treat as any sort of a travel guide.

Lisa is cheating at mixing her mojito, by using one of those just-add-rum pouches that were reduced to 18p in Waitrose earlier this week. These pouches were responsible for me and Pete failing to keep our “no drinking for one week” resolution, but we figured they didn’t count because, erm, oh look a kitten! This is the cocktail equivalent of a loaf of bread with tomatoes on top.

At asta’s bench there is an unusual foray into the deeply lowbrow, with an awful Meg Ryan film to celebrate her umptieth wedding anniversary, something no-one else in the room can even begin to lay claim to. According to tradition, 26 is the first year you don’t get a present. Hard luck!

Graybo is mixing his continents rather than his cocktails, which seems a little ambitious. He can double-check here that Bogart is definitely standing in an airport not at a bar; were you thinking of the “Play it” scene, perhaps? But no, that’s not a champagne bottle, and the lady’s not coming back.

I’m having a Brief Encounter, as long as it isn’t out of hours yet.