Okay let’s talk about cocktails – those mixed miracles so beloved of the love island set.
Right. What constitutes a cocktail?
Basically a few drinks married together to make something that tastes nice.
Not, I would contend, anything that is thick, pink, eggy or just plain odd (like pouring champagne over candyfloss).
But maybe that is just my personal prejudices showing.
However. I do like a cocktail when I’m in the mood.
There’s nothing says summer like a mojito or six.
And winter evenings practically cry out for a whisky mac and a good book.
No. What I have against cocktails is the idea that drinking them confers sophistication. It don’t.
Take as an instance my friend Mabel. She of evil repute and the kind of bunions you would find it hard to imagine. This woman habitually wears a cerise tracksuit and puts pink bows in her hair. And what does she drink?
Bloody Harvey Wallbangers.
I rest my case.
Drinking cocktails is no more likely to imbue you with sophistication than buying a dodgy Aston with illegal exhausts is gonna turn you into James Bond.
If you like cocktails, drink them and enjoy them. But don’t put pictures of them on Instagram. And don’t expect the barman at the Dog and Scrotum to produce one of them fancy cocktails shakers and a dinky sieve. If you are lucky he will stir your Moscow Mule with his finger. If he doesn’t like you…
Cocktails are a very good way to get boring visitors pissed. I have been feeding my daughter-in-law cosmopolitans for forty years and she still has no idea they are alcoholic.
After the third she falls asleep with her mouth open and the rest of us carry on with the party.