French Wine
I’m half-Irish, half-English, and five thirds ethanol. This makes me somewhat of an expert in the ways of alcohol and in my state of constant inebriation I’m also not averse to flinging my wisdom to the four winds with not a care in the world as to where such knowledge lands. Today I’d like to introduce you to wine. Specifically: French wine. By and large, French wine falls under the taste category of "le fucking awful". There is one type of red wine in France and three types of white wine. The red wine is vinegar. Some of it is vinegar in bottles marked "vin de table" and some of it is vinegar in bottles marked "chateauneuf de vinegar" but the vinegar is there, nonetheless. The full-bodied red wine of France lacks body and wine, preferring the consistency of water vapour to the former and a heavy dose of vinegar to the latter. If you pop into a poisson and chips shop in downtown Paris they ask if you’d like some salt and burgundy with your order. White wine is either dry, chardonnay, or champagne. The dry wine isn’t just dry; it’s uberdry. Those little packs that come in your computer accessories marked "silica gel" that you can’t hold in your hand without dying? Those are crystals of dry, white, French wine. You get more moisture from mixing a Vodka Martini with an equal measure of Campari than from French white wine and that’s the cocktail that sea sponges are born from. Chardonnay is, of course, the most common and vilest wine grape on both this planet and that other grape planet around Arcturus. When I think of a white wine to drink I think: I want something refreshing, flavoursome, chilled. Okay, chardonnay is flavoursome – I’ll give you that much – but ham-flavoured grapes just aren’t my thing. Doesn’t anyone else taste the meat in chardonnay? I’m not one of those people who swills wine around in my mouth, pulls in air over my tongue, spits it out and says "mmmm, essence of girl guides frolicking in a meadow with hyacinths growing under a nearby bridge beside a mango-laden hedge, home to singing starlings" because I can never even pick out the taste of blackberries in blackberry wine. But I can taste the pig in chardonnay. I may be wrong but it is my solemn belief that chardonnay grapes are grown on hillsides formed from the rotted-down carcasses of a massive boar-culling. They are tended by genetically-modified pigs who walk upright shooing away greenfly and excreting pig breath and pig faeces in equal measure upon the vines until...
Fashion tips for girls
We’ve got gay men giving clothing and lifestyle advice to straight men. We’ve got odd women with dress senses that make you want to burn them dispensing similar fashion advice to men and women of either sex (and occasionally both). But where are the straight men giving advice to women? I don’t mean the men on construction sites expelling pearls of wisdom such as "You’ve dropped your handbag love!" (Damn you sexual harrassment laws and all the occasionally harmless pestering you’ve ruined! Damn you to hell!) I mean men like me pointing out fashion no-nos to women like the ones you see in the street, or in the supermarket, or under the stairs in the oubliette. Well, last time I checked, I’m a man like me! Now, remember: these fashion tips are deadly serious (ignore them and I’ll post a venomous snake through your letterbox armed with a dagger and some cyanide capsules to make absolutely certain) and aren’t just for girls! They’re also for women and ladies and ladyboys and open-minded men who aren’t afraid of getting caught in a lovely, silky pair of quality, high-cut knickers with padded gusset. And that old and confused-yet-determined man who walked through the shopping precinct just the other day in the rain with a manly pullover, a manly shirt, manly shoes, a pretty flowery skirt, and tights. Although I suspect he doesn’t have an internet connection in whatever padded cell he escaped from so this is probably wasted on him. Yeah, forget him. Shoes Let’s start with the objects that in the absence of an all-powerful deity do a pretty good job at keeping women quiet and occupied and out of the way of the cable box remote control sensor. I don’t care how comfortable or uncomfortable they feel, and I don’t care if some F-list celebrity has endorsed them, as I see it these are the "Grade ‘A’ Approved neOnbubble Golden Rules Of Wearing Ladies Shoes": "Chunky" Shoes Chunky shoes are those that tend to be "sporty" in appearance, typically with a sole having a uniform thickness of at least four centimetres (I love throwing in metric measurements to confuse Americans) and sometimes reaching stupidly high amounts closer to 1/2640th of a furlong (I love throwing in fractions of inappropriate imperial measurements to confuse everyone). I have no doubt that they have some advantages when worn such as making it harder to knock the owner over but – and women tend to find this important – their general chunkiness adds the appearance of weight to the leg area. This shortens the perceived leg length and squattenifies (I may have made...
Paris Hilton’s range
By now there are four people in Peru who haven’t been able to see all the latest Paris Hilton photos so this article, like all my articles, is primarily aimed at them for when they’re released by the rebels seeking independence and a return of Paddington. Paris "Goshdarnit, I’m In The News Again" Hilton has recently had her phone cracked and all the stored pictures, email addresses, and phone numbers were leaked to that bane in Ms Hilton’s life: the internet. Do you know anyone with a phone camera? You do! Well, does that person have nothing but 98,000 photos of themself stored in their phone’s memory? They don’t! Guess you don’t know Paris Hilton then. Now, I’m not saying she’s narcissistic, but the only other explanation I can think of is that she thinks you have to look at the small round lens to take a picture. Paris is certainly one for self-promotion and I wouldn’t put it past her to have had this leak arranged but regardless of the outcome of all this I did make a discovery during my perusal of her personal portfolio: she could always make it as a model. Look at the...
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