Excellent.
At last, a thread where I can apply a life's study and share the results of my experimentation (in a cordoned off, private area) with those who have similar tastes and experiences.
In order of offences against drinkers:
Known nos
Southern Comfort: An association with the only time I have woken up and thought I had turned blind, had wet myself and had my shoes stolen. To be fair, any one of these have happened on their own, any number of times in the last 30 years but not all of them at the same time, other than one night in May, back in 1980. After a heavy lunch time, I had fallen asleep on Plymouth Hoe and in the 8 hours I was out for the count, it had rained, it had got dark and I had kicked off my shoes and abandoned them to a fate unknown. I had to walk the 4 miles home barefoot. Therefore Southern Comfort = never again.
Dark Rum and xxxxx: Some years ago, I used to do voluntary work for an organisation that owned a chalet/hut on Polhawn cliff in Cornwall. After a hard day digging drain aways and painting, our favourite activity was to go down to the pub in Cawsands, buy up a huge number of raffle tickets and drink the winnings on the way back to the hut. This time, we exceeded all expectations of tombola excess and ended up getting so drunk that we, sorry, I ended up misjudging the path and fell down the cliff. Thanks to the the anaesthetic effects of alcohol, I survived the fall, picked myself up, climbed back to the hut, into my sleeping bed and into the arms of Morpheus. The next morning, I sort of woke up, vaguely aware that all was not well with corpus Hummers; I couldn't move my left leg and couldn't lift my head off the chipboard shelf I was sleeping on. Worse than this, I was aware of a sweet smell that was somewhere between Rum and Black, Rum and Peppermint and another smell I couldn't quite place. The Rum and xxx smell was my mate Alf's vomit that had dripped down between a gap in the boards above me to form a pool somewhere to the left of me but within whiffy distance. The 'other smell' was my own blood from a two inch gash in my scalp which had clotted to effectively glue the back of my head to the chipboard, preventing me from moving away fast enough to not vomit over my own face. Therefore, by proxy, Dark Rum is not a drink I can tolerate the smell of.
Newcastle Broon: It would seem that just two pints of this stuff unleashes a violent and aggressive persona that I cannot identify with and have no time for. Therefore, I would rather drink my own piss than this stuff. Actually, I would rather drink anyone's piss than this stuff as your own stuff is not that bad (unless you have been eating Asparagus, drinking coffee or smoking cigars).
Once tried, forever fried
4 Pints of Scrumpy with a scooner of Sherry on the top: It was fun while it lasted but it is possible that me riding pillion on the back of a Honda Kamino through the pedestrian shopping precinct of Plymouth's Cornwall Street shouting 'Vote Labour' at the top of my voice condemmed us all to another 5 years under the heel of the Tory jackboot back in the 1987 elections. Sorry.
Scrumpy: Two pints of the stuff at the Highway Man's Inn, Sourton, had me sat on the back seat of Mike Sweet's car with my feet out of his dashboard, giggling all the way back to Exeter. It wouldn't have been so bad had I not have been driving at the time.
Cheap Cider: Elation and all of the above but swiftly followed by a massive crash into depression and the onset of morbid self loathing; possibly linked to the election results of 1987 and the terrible burden of guilt.
Courage Best: Is it possible to build up an intolerance to beer? I would have hoped this wasn't the case but my sphincter tells me otherwise. I can't say I am that sorry to now be living in a non-Courage dominated drinking area. Fortunately, Bass, London Pride and Hole Hearted all seem to be hypoallergenic.
Tequila: How can celebrating my mother's 80th birthday leave me feeling (the next morning) that I have succumbed to a date-rape drug? The answer is Tequila, bought from the Co-Op at £7.50. She had never tried it before (Tequila, that is) so I thought it would be a good idea to introduce her to shots and slammers. Did I say 'good idea'? Mum had half a shot glass, myself and the offspring slammed our way through the rest. Oh dear.
Tempus edax rerum nunc est bibendum
H