Drink and be Merry and Have a Dry Sherry
By Dominic Horton
On Monday the Daily Mail
reported that according to a study conducted by the drinks company Upbeat the
day was “Blue Monday”, reputedly the glummest day of the year, with the
Christmas merrymaking being at an end the populous is wallowing in a deep pit
of despair having to face once more the reality of life, which was temporarily
suspended over the festive period. In
such circumstances reading the Daily Mail is ill advised as it could push one
over the edge. Apparently on Blue
Monday the British compulsion of complaining about the weather peaks and the
divorce rate soars, with twice as many people petitioning for divorce in the
month of January than in the second most popular month of September.
I would imagine that disgruntled
spouses intending to get rid of their other halves leave it until after
Christmas in order to profit from cunning gift tactics; that is, knowing that
they are going to end the marriage in the new year the discontented party
cynically buys their spouse a cheap second hand Showaddywaddy CD knowing full
well that they are going to receive in return the complete box set of The World at War, the latest edition of
the Wisden Cricketers’ Almanack and a 92 piece set of socket spanners. Once the gift booty is in the bag it is a
case of thank you and good night.
One person who was not suffering
a Blue Monday was the multi-millionaire businessman and art dealer Charles
Saatchi who consoled himself over his split with TV culinarian Nigella Lawson
by swanning off on his £25m “love boat”, smoking fags whilst cavorting in the
company of toff fashion designer Trinny Woodhall, made famous by her television
show What Not to Wear; Saatchi should
have no worries on that front as he always plays it safe by wearing a dark suit
and a white shirt with a tab on the end of his lip. Mind you, if his relationship with Woodhall
goes the same way as his marriage to Lawson he might be wearing spicy beef with
green peppers in black bean sauce if they have a bust up at the dinner table.
The New Orleans Rhythm and Blues legend Fats Domino
immortalised the phrase “Blue Monday” in his song of the same title and
latterly so did the pop band New Order, which reminds me of my brief encounter
with New Order bass player Peter Hook, whose autobiography is called How Not to Run a Club, in reference to
the financially ill feted Hacienda club in Manchester, which Hook part
owned. The Phantom, Ms C and I went to
see Hook at an evening at the Glee Club in Birmingham where he was interviewed
by the writer and former notorious drug runner Howard Marks. At the end of an entertaining show we
approached the affable Hook to say hello and to take our photographs with
him. When it was my turn to have my
photo taken I handed the camera to the Phantom, a Grimbarian, who proceeded to
have difficulties with it so Hook exclaimed, “Can’t you work a f*cking
camera?!” only for the quick witted Phantom to devilishly reply, “Can’t you run
a f*cking nightclub?!!!” Grimsby 1
Manchester 0.
Devilish is not a word that will be associated with
Christenings in the future as it has been reported this week that the Anglican
church are to remove reference to the devil from their baptism services.
Currently godparents are asked to “reject the devil.” Debate has ensued as to perceptions of the
devil and evil and as to whether the devil actually exists or if evil is just
present is human behaviour. I decided to
look evil right in the eye on New Year’s day and it was off to the Rhareli
Peking Chinese takeaway to face up to the Baby Faced Assassin and to sample his
less than agreeable foodstuffs.
I realised that as an opening New Year’s gambit it was no
use denouncing the Assassin and Mr Ping so after visiting the Flagon &
Gorses I decided it was best to get it over with and suffer one of their beef
fried rice and curry sauces to prevent me from thinking that I could avoid
their villainous lair this year. The
Assassin at least had the good grace to sugar coat the pill by providing me
with complimentary spring rolls in a bag marked, “thank you for your custom”
and so my return to the Peking after my Christmas break was thus sealed. I was temporarily spooked out the following
day when Ian Payne on BBC Radio Five Live Sport started the broadcast by
announcing, “The Baby Faced Assassin is
back!” To my relief I realised that
Payne was referring to the fresh faced Ole Gunnar Solskjaer, who has just been
appointed manager of Cardiff City FC.
I could have satisfied my hunger on New Year’s Day with
infinitely more nourishing and appetising fayre than the monosodium glutamate laden
dish from the Peking as in the Flagon Pat Debilder donated to me two portions
of meat and vegetable pie but the tucker was too precious to be hastily scoffed
post-pub. The world class pie graced the
plates of my dear son Kenteke and I the following evening and we dined like
kings as we were also given cheesecake that had fallen from heaven by the free
baking Selena, so all in all we had a hearty meal which helped to sooth the
awfulness of the day in which I had been plagued by the horrid alcohol terrors,
bought on by accumulative festive tippling leaving me as booze soaked as a
Christmas pudding.
The terrors were
so bad that on the train on the way back from work I had a bad case of the
dreaded gargoyles whereby everyone appears to look grotesque and hideous and I
couldn't look anyone in the eye and I just kept my head down until it was time
to get off the train. Of course to other
onlookers the people were all of normal appearance with varying degrees of
attractiveness (except for one woman who actually looked like a gargoyle [and a
particularly ugly one at that]) but it is a trick of the ghastly terrors which
distorts the perception of people so they look like (as my Grandad Charlie used
to put it) a Friday night’s faggot trod on.
A quick dose of the beastly gargoyles would act as an effective
deterrent to any prospective teenage boozer who might otherwise think that
drinking is glamorous. I feel like
Marley’s Ghost in Charles Dickens’s A
Christmas Carol when I am burdened with the terrors: “I cannot rest, I cannot stay, I cannot linger
anywhere.” I most probably look like
Marley’s Ghost as well.
So all in all I think a couple
of nights of sobriety are in order ahead of the Pirate’s 63rd
birthday party next week and I haven’t got much choice in the matter anyway
given that all I have left in the war chest is two buttons and an old
peseta. Christmas chews you up and spits
you out, skint and demoralised. As is
my custom every January I will be raiding my pennies jar Tom Good style to get
me through the month in once piece. I am
hoping for a plentiful bounty this year as instead of collecting just pennies,
tuppences and five penny pieces I have added ten and twenty pence pieces to the
mix so not only might I be able to keep the wolf from the door but in addition
to the beer money there might be a bit of cash left over for food as well.
Despite my resolution to not
make any resolutions I have made a resolution, which is to drink more
sherry. Sherry is a much maligned drink
so I will show it my support after payday when I will acquire a suitable bottle. It seems as good a resolution as any and at
least it will be something that I will enjoy and it is a positive action as
opposed to one in the negative. All
these people virtuously covenanting to give up this and that remind me of the
zealous DUP politician the Reverend Ian Paisley bellowing, “Ulster says no!” on
the 6 o’clock news in the 1980’s while I was trying to eat my tea. It put me right off. Luckily like the Man from Del Monte at the
Flagon & Gorses the Pirate says yes, he says please feel free to drink and
rollick in my pleasure palace and see the New Year in during January with a
pint in your hand and a smile on your face.
Money Week reported that the
killjoys at employee benefits company JLT have recommended that instead of
spending money on booze to invest it in your pension and it could be enhanced
by £20,000 but employing that tactic would mean that life would hardly be worth
living, so my advice is stuff the pension and drink and be merry and have a dry
sherry.
© Dominic Horton, January 2014.
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