Back in the 90s we drank this ace cocktail. A Bloody Stupid. 40cl Vodka, 40cl cough mixture. On ice. Shaken not stirred. Served in a pint glass. Mind blowing. Literally.

Well apparently it’s making a comeback. Rappers in the good ol’USofA have got hold of it. Of course they’ve put their own spin on it mixing the cough mixture with a fruit-flavored soda and dissolving in Jolly Rancher fruit sweets for good measure. Serve it up in Styrofoam cups. Gets ‘em well high and according to Fast Gerald and his online encyclopedia causes ‘motor-skill impairment, lethargy, drowsiness, and a dissociative feeling from all other parts of the body.’ Rockin’.

Nearly did for Lil Wayne which is as good a reason as any to get it back over here.

So I tried to get the local boozer to start stocking Benylin again. No chance. They also remember the 90s and the Bloody Stupid. And the police vans arriving. And yours truly being escorted off the premises for a night in the cells. So the only slammer related cocktail I can get these days starts and finishes with tequila. Nice but where’s the drama in that?

Here’s a little known fact that Fast Gerald the Tortoise told me down the boozer the other day. Sausages were invited by the Romans. Around AD400 apparently. It was the sausage that powered the Roman Legions to pillage and sodomise several continents. Splendid!!

In more recent times it was the sausage that powered the ICF and similar majestic footballing outfits to take the ends of less sartorially elegant firms the world over. The sausage made us what we are today. That’s what the Romans did for us, people.

So why the fuck are our prized local boozers being taken over by ponced up gastropubs offering the likes of ‘A perigord bratwusrt sitting on a castle of potato cakes afloat in a sea of red onion jus. Sourced locally.’ ? Thank you the Prince Percy. I’ve a good mind to come down to yours and stuff a toad right up your ‘definitely not sourced from round here’ hole. Buggered by a Bratwurst. The Romans would have approved.

I’ve done a fair bit of top booze in my time. But I got to admit I got caught offside the other afternoon. Stumbled upon one of them real aley pubs. Not my thing but as I was in the vicinity..….”What’s your poison?” the barkeep asked me. “Knock me out.” I replied.  And he did. Tactical Nuclear Penguin. A beer that’s 34% proof.  Goes down like a goldfish, bites like a piranha.  Had to have a couple. Woke up in a skip. In me pants.  Loving it!!!