He drinks a whiskey drink, he drinks a vodka drink. He drinks a lager drink, he drinks a cider drink
A companion piece to my earlier post about memorable meals
Wood End Juniors was unusual in the 1970s for having home economics lessons for boys as well as girls. The first lesson was ‘How to make tea and toast’: a complicated exercise in multi-tasking for eight year olds. Soon after the lesson I decided to make breakfast for my parents and take it up to them in bed to show them what I’ve learned. “My tea’s seen a ghost!” said my mum, referring to how much milk I’d used. It’s a phrase that would be repeated in the future whenever one of us put too much milk in a drink. When she finished the cup of tea you’d made her Mum would ask, “Any more tea in your pot?” which, as a teenager, really irritated me. I’d give anything to hear her ask that now.
Our relationship is reaching its conclusion though neither of us is grown up enough to face the fact just yet. After an uncomfortable 24-hour ride on a cramped, smelly coach we’ve arrived in Vienna, where we are to stay with old friends. On the first day a row that has been brewing for weeks erupts. I remember very little about the row, or the holiday but I do remember that I discovered Almdudler while there – a delicious herby soda that I’ve never seen anywhere else. The end of us and the soda are inseparable in my memory.
Your job doesn’t start until you get to your workplace and ends the minute you leave it whereas mine often blurs into my social life due to PR launches, reader events, openings and jollies. It’s a source of tension as you are new to the city and don’t have many friends. “You treat me like a handbag!” you tell me one evening, saying you don’t feel I spend enough time with you. I’ve taken you with me on a swanky press trip to New York. We’re in a bar, happy hour is about to finish so, despite only being halfway through my margarita I insist on ordering another round. “You’re a bloody alcoholic!” you announce before flouncing off in a huff. I sit in the bar on my own and enjoy some of the best margaritas I’ve ever had while I watch the world go by. I suspect we were arguing about more than margaritas. Back at the hotel a few hours later you’re mortified and apologetic, blaming jet lag.
“You treat me like a handbag!”
Flying back from a work trip to Jamaica I am drunk by the time I get on the Virgin plane. I fall asleep but am roused by the Duty Free trolley. My workmate still laughs when she describes me coming to, reaching for my bank card and waving it at the trolley dolly saying, “Virgin Visa Virgin! I want Visa Virgin!”. I was trying to order Virgin Vodka.
It is sweltering. The height of summer in Barcelona. I’ve finished my classes for the day and have headed to the beach to meet friends. Getting off the bus I buy a can of Coke from a kiosk and guzzle it down as I walk along the sand to meet them. Bending over to lay my towel down I do the longest, loudest burp of my life. Everyone around me looks over. “Que cerdo!” (“You pig!!!”) declares a friend.
A lavish press trip to Iceland for the launch of a new vintage of a very fancy Champagne. We are helicoptered onto a glaciar where, among burning pyres, the first bottle is uncorked. For the next three days we drink nothing but Champagne for breakfast, lunch and dinner. At the last breakfast an American journo has had enough. “For the love of God, can I just get a glass of water!!!” he implores, much to everyone’s amusement and delight.
“Excuse me, I don’t suppose you have any water, do you?”
David and I are in Spain for a month. The days begin with delicious crusty cheese sandwiches and ice cold beers in the café of our local food market.
“This better be good!” I say to David and Tomasso as our hipster bartender in a trendy Lecce bar pours a gloopy syrup down a twizzle stick into the G&Ts he’s been faffing around with for far too long – adding and muddling various herbs and God knows what else. The G&T is amazing!
I’m in bed and crying for my mum. It’s 4am. I am 22. My boyfriend is off shagging some guy who works for the railway who he met in some club last week. An bucket and an empty bottle of brandy is next to the bed. I will not drink brandy again for 25 years.
I always say that one of the best things about me is that I am always up for a drink. It’s also one of the worst.