Sunday wrap up – slippers, 18% beer, Alex-Sim Wise, Cecil the dwarf and special brew chasers

August 2, 2009 at 21:55 (News commentary) (, , , , , , )

You cant beat an English Sunday. Slippers, silk dressing gown, radio four, milky way ready to dip into your special brew chaser … agh, this is the life.

Time for a quick wrap up from the week, not least so I can update on those Scottish lads who managed to make the pain of the Rantzen go away. Dreamt I was the last sperm producing male on earth last night and had to choose between her and a pug nosed dwarf called Cecil. Probably best I leave it there, which ironically is what Cecil said at one point.

Anyway, if Id done my research properly I would have discovered why the 18% beer is called Tokyo – as the lads explain it themselves on their blog via YouTube. Its down to some kind of 1980s arcade game from Japan … didn’t get all the rest as I don’t speak Jock so checked out after a while. Still as I said yesterday, good luck to the lads and will someone please get them on TV …

In other news, a long night on a park bench with three bottles of Tesco value vodka lead to the opening of a Twitter account, which Ive mainly used to perv over the lovely Alex Sim-Wise. Again get her on TV, though I’m probably thinking of a 18+ subscription service this time …

I have also been whoring it round the net, going ape shit on the London Echo over Rantzen again (damn you woman!), congratulating Graham Jones on another great post, taking a pot shot at that one eyed goat fiddler Mullah Omar and making a terrible Carry On joke about parking a bike in between Michelle Marsh’s chesticles.

Anyway Qunicy is just about to start on UK Fossil so I’m off. Love that programme. Total bollocks of course. If you had a loved one caught up in a life threatening situation the last thing you’d want is for the copper to say – “it is going to be fine, I know who we need – sergeant, call for the coroner!”

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18% beer – still better for you than Esther Ranzten

August 1, 2009 at 19:41 (News commentary) (, , , , )

I’m recovering from a night on the toilet duck so what I might be about to write could in fact be bollocks. It certainly sounds like bollocks – Esther Ranzten is apparently going to run for Parliament.

I don’t know when this country started to go wrong – pretty sure it was around the time Ant and Dec were let out of the idiot factory – but this news really does take the kebab stick. Have we really sunk to the stage where people who built a career around sticking cats on television that could fart to the tune of “she’ll be coming round the mountain” are considered serious material for the mother of all Parliaments?

Take her numb skull interview on the Beeb where she says she sees it as an “adventure”. Yes, because that’s what I want from my Parliamentarian. I want them to be approaching the job as if it’s a day out at Butlins rather than sorting out why my street is knee deep in dogshit.

All this madness has made me amenable to the brain smashing qualities of a new beer launched this week by a couple of plucky lads up in Scotland – the Tokyo. No idea why it’s been given such an unimaginative title (please God tell me they’re not trying to be trendy), but it caused quite a stir because of its alcohol content, a cool 18%. Predictably this spurred some sustained banshee wailing from sections of the health professional lobby and that obviously teetotal section of society, journalists.

No one it seems bought the lad’s explanation that the beer would reduce binge drinking, instead reasoning the complete opposite. And to be fair whoever does the brewery’s PR needs to be taken outside and given a moderate beating because it was a terrible bit of spiel that was bound to get castrated with a meat clever as soon as it hit the media bubble (assuming it wasn’t a cunning rouse to get any form of publicity, even of the bad variety – in which case it worked). 

However, it has to be said that there is a bit of hypocritical mincing going on here from the media and the general wailing majority.

For a start I always object to getting moral lectures about my health from journalists who are the biggest group of piss heads and coke snorters on the face of the planet. There are, as usual, a few facts dumped from the picture by most, like how the beer is only on a small run and avaliable from the brewery itself, Brewdog.

But my main beef is what is exactly the difference between this kind of beverage and the cascade of brain rot that sits behind most bartenders in every pub, club and cheesed up bar in this country? You go into any late night establishment around 1am and you will find a crèche full of chaved up muppets chucking all kinds of pure – probably flaming – concoctions down their throats. Just because it comes in a small glass doesn’t mean it isn’t potent – and that goes for supposedly more refined “drams” or “toddies” that send a good proportion of the middle age demography to sleep each night.  

This new beer is not irresponsible nor does it spell the end of civilisation as we know it. Its a different, new invention from a small local brewery thats got a bit of nerve to produce something different. So Im off to order a couple of cases – who knows, three bottles in and I might even stop thinking that Rantzen is an unbareable tit.

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