My Allen-Carr Mojito epiphany and other ideas July 9, 2007Posted by BiB in Uncategorized.
Tags: Carr, Cruz
Darlings, I’m having so many good ideas at the moment, I’m a bit worried I might have to get a second head, or, alternatively, that my foot will fall off. In any case, I’m a public-spirited kind of chap and I think it’s only right that I share the fruits of my one-man brainstorming sessions with you. As ever, inspiration came during a silent but lubricated dinner-for-two. I was in a mega looking-out-the-window mood. Perhaps in search of a sign of summer. Whatever the weather, it did the trick. My perceptive senses would have been the pride of any sniffer-dog.
So, my Allen-Carr-like epiphany means I can now help you all give up booze. Or, rather, wean you of booze. Or, even more precisely, wean you off cocktails with a strong hint of lime in their make-up. I’ll be putting it to the test myself any year now, of course, and will keep you up-to-date with how I’m getting on. So hands up who needs to give up Caipirinhas and Mojitos… Mm-yes. Very good. Mind you, I’m not sure Mojitos do have lime in them after all. Do they, darlings? Something green, other than the mint, is definitely springing to mind as I flash it back to happy times spent downing them and paying with my credit card. Hopeless in this weather, of course. There should at least be a suggestion of warmth to ideally suit Mojito-quaffing. Whereas it is currently so freezing that I have to have the heating on and wonder how the mosquitoes – freshly arrived on the scene – are surviving. (And also wondered if mosquitoes migrate, and these ones have arrived from Scandinavia in search of heat and blood.) (Mind you, at least mosquitoes seem dim and are easy to kill. None of the wiliness of flies. And you think evolution might have taught them that if they want a chance of a bit of a suck without being splatted to death within half a second, it might be an idea not to announce your arrival with a buzz. Twats. They’re slower than flies too, in spite of their more svelte frames. A failure all round, really, mosquitoes. Unless one views malaria as a success.) (I don’t, personally.) Plus, my Allen-Carr Mojito epiphany, which surfaced as I had my nose deep inside a glass of mineral water with a slice of lime in it, made me also flash my mind back, or sideways, or somewhere or other, to this nice noise from Volver – do people know that Lůkáš loathes Almodóvar? Shall we all go over there and make him feel weird? – and I wondered also – non-stop wondering round here these days, let me tell you – if that was Penélope Cruz’s voice. It probably wasn’t. It also made me think of Penélope Cruz’s breasts, which I consider very pretty. I think, as a homo, I’m allowed to say this without being accused of anything. Which, boys, is an awfully good trick. Although I don’t know how much longer I can spin this homo-lie out for. Just as well the Russian did some shot-putting in her youth. Anyway, hands up who else finds Penélope and her boobs pretty…
So, yes, the epiphany. Well, I had such a strong flashback to lime-containing cocktails as I knocked back my glass of mineral water with a slice of lime in it that I was suddenly washed over in brilliance. “This fab idea could help millions,” I internalised as I gazed out the dirty window at the Hinterhaus. I can’t be bothered to write a book and make a fortune from clinics so, philanthropist that I am, I’m going to give you the tip for free. Gratitude may be expressed, along with your thoughts on Penélope’s pretty bristols, in the comments box.
So, how to give up Caipirinhas and Mojitos? First, get absolutely hammered on Caipirinhas or Mojitos. Then, hopefully with the assistance of a friend or member of the waiting staff whom you’ve alerted to your strategy beforehand, when you’re too hammered to notice the difference, start getting the Caipis or Mojitos you order automatically replaced with a glass of water with a massive, fuck-off slice of lime in it. As long as the lime smells strong enough, I’m convinced you’ll be convinced. Once I fine-tune some of the details, I might write a book after all.
Darlings, while I’m on, though I realise I could string this out to another post, but who knows when I’ll have had enough red wine to be bothered to write again, I must tell you the upshot of a conversation with a pal further to the events at Glasgow Airport whenever that was and you must all tell me if it’s worth writing a book on or getting on to a think-tank about. Well, my friend and I could only conclude that folk who want to kill lots of people (and themselves into the bargain) are morally reprehensible. Loathsome, even. Horrid. Despicable. And mean. Personally, I think it’s a poor idea to kill (yourself and others) for your cause. I was already livid enough that someone or other had tried to shoot down the President of Ivory Coast’s plane. What about the other folk on board? Are they collateral damage? Fair game? And then folk driving themselves into airport buildings but doomed to a smeatonly failure! Anyway. I’m all for freedom of choice. And while I would discourage hot-headed youths, and even grown-ups, if that is the case, from killing themselves and others because not everyone thinks as they do, I don’t want to restrict their right to death. So my friend and I wondered if they might not just see fit to kill themselves in future. All sorts of interests are catered for in this day and age. Shopping centres and other public spots have baby-changing facilities (where you can go and change your baby for one you like more). Airports and other communal buildings have quiet spaces or prayer rooms where folk of whatever persuasion takes them can go and do their thang. I’ve even heard that Dutch or Danish town-planners factor in concentrations of foliage so gay men can go cruising. So I think we need to cater to the suicide-bomber. My friend and I thought that perhaps landfill sites could be made suicide-friendly. There, misguided types could be allowed to blow themselves to kingdom come while making sure that all health and safety requirements were met. And then they could biodegrade nicely.
I don’t know why I have to blog everything today, but as I’m on, this story (with a video bit too, to bring home the sheer wickedness of it all) simultaneously made me cry and turn into my mother/Melanie Phillips (not that I mean Melanie Phillips is my mother, because she isn’t), shaking my head in disbelief and asking (myself) what the world had come to. Contrary to the Russian’s assertions, it all proves that I am, at the very worst, only the fourth wickedest person on the planet.
PS. Thank you to Sylvia for pointing out my case of egregious mistaken identity.