down home taste

I didn’t actually give him SunDrop, I mean do you know what’s in that stuff?

Not something you’d expect from the Welsh

An Irishman, a Scot, an Englishman and a Welshman all walk into a bar. No, that can’t be right, at least three of them must have been smart enough to duck.

Seriously though, of those four – which is the least bright? Did you say the Irish fellow? Shame on you. You’re not allowed to say that anymore. It’s racist. The Irish have their own box now to tick on forms. You can’t have said Scottish or English because they have different cultural stereotypes. So it must have been the Welsh guy. He must be the stupid one.

The thick Welshman was a new stereotype for me when I came over here. I had no idea. But it’s pervasive. I once had a long, long conversation in the first class smoking carriage of a train to York with a Welsh fellow. We traded secrets about how we’d played on our regional accents (I can still sound Southern if I want to) acted dumb and gotten away with – if not murder – then free bus fares and out of traffic tickets and used it to gain advantage in sales. How we laughed. How we garnered the sulking, resentful looks of the English on the train. Surely, they didn’t think the Welsh really were that stupid, surely they must have had some suspicions all along?

In an age of offense, there do still remain some groups it’s ok to pick at. Groups which it’s still OK to make fun of – like Redneck Southerners or Welshmen from the Valleys. Hey, it’s all for a laugh right?

Apparently so. The Adverstising Standards Agency has rejected a series of complaints about an ad which cast less than flattering light upon the Welsh intellect:

The advertising watchdog has rejected 21 complaints about a commercial which featured a Welsh team in a quiz show. Complainants said the advert for Welsh firm Brecon Five’s vodka presented Welsh people as of low intelligence.

It showed a woman called Jones getting a question about a philosopher right, before a voiceover that said: “That’s not what you’d expect from Wales”.

Hardy, har, har.

The Advertising Standards Authority (ASA) ruled it was light-hearted and unlikely to cause widespread offence.

Well, it’s not likely to cause widespread offense outside Wales, I guess. I mean, I admit – I’m not offended and my mother’s maiden name is Welsh and all.

-0-

And in other news from Wales, this story also struck me funny.

Warren Gatland [the new Welsh rugby coach] has dismissed the notion that there is a widespread drinking culture in Welsh rugby.

Mwwwa, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha. ROFL, LMAO

That’s not what I’d expect from Wales. Or rugby players.

Goodbye old friend

Our beloved coffee maker has given up the ghost. It’s just a filter drip thing, but it has a lot of nice features that we’ve grown used to, that we rely on:

• spring loaded valve thingy, so you can get a cheeky half cup before the brewing cycle has completed
• removable water tank, so you can take that to the sink and back – also so you’re not tempted to use the carafe which would introduce coffee to the innards of the machine
• thermos carafe – instead of the glass decanter with hot plate beneath – this means that your coffee never scorches.

It also has some other features, like a timer and strength modulator and I think you can reverse the polarity, but we don’t really use those. But the ones listed above, we need them now.

The pump on the machine has packed up, it’s caked with lime scale. London water is ridiculously hard, it’s well ‘ard. If you fink your appliances can escape unscaved, yer having a larf.

C’mon mister coffee, come and haff a go if you fink yer ‘ard enough. Yeah, you and yer coffee mate.

We’ve had a few close calls with the coffee maker – for a couple of years we had a paint brush stuck to the bottom of the carafe with blue tack because I’d broken the spring loaded valve thingy and without the extra height We nearly gave in and got rid of it a couple of times, just because we were tired of people asking “Why do you have a paint brush stuck to the bottom of your coffee pot?”. And yet we could hardly blame them for asking. But we persevered with our rigged appliance because we couldn’t find a replacement. The market is saturated now with one cup encapsulated coffee makers with their expensive tied brands of coffee or cappuccino-latte frothy extraordinaire jobbies which look complicated and difficult to clean and likely to cause steam burns and I don’t even like cappuccinos and lattes and poncy coffee drinks. Eventually the Vol-in-Law found, ordered and installed a part which allowed us to dispense with the brush.

But there’s no such easy cure this time. I’ve tried some home descaling methods – I’ve run three and a half bottles of vinegar and two doses of oxyclean through the thing. It’s improved the situation somewhat – since I’ve caught quite a bit of calcite grit coming through the machine, but it’s still not working right.

In the mean time we’ve been using a coffee press, which produces unsatisfactorily small amounts of coffee which goes cold all too quickly. And on Thursday we bought a filter drip machine for such a cheap price that we can view the machine as disposable (it cost the same as two and a quarter venti Americanos). And the taste? We probably should have spent the money on the two and a quarter coffee shop coffees.

I’ve identified a replacement coffee maker that has all the features of our old one – plus a descaling mode, but we’d have to take a second mortgage out. But we’re getting desperate. Might be time for a call to the banker.

Lawrenceburg Vice

I’ve had several hits on the site this morning looking for information about the availability of liquor and the freedom to smoke in Lawrenceburg, Tennessee.

Like I’m some sort of authority on low-level vice in Lawrenceburg.

Really Mom, I’m not. I haven’t had that depth of knowledge for years.

What’s in the brown paper bag?

It was rumored when I was a lass, that certain Baptist preachers of Lawrenceburg would stake out the parking lots of liquor stores in the seat of our neighboring county – the nearest place to buy hard spirits.

I don’t know if that was true or merely a means of keeping thirsty and wayward church-goers on their toes, but now watchful ministers won’t need to drive so far.

Apparently, Lawrenceburg, TN my old home town of a mere 10,000 souls is going to allow packaged liquor sales within the city limits. The resolution passed earlier this year. I guess the town fathers were tired of seeing potential tax revenues leach to nearby counties.

Hell done froze over…and nobody told me. This seemed unimaginable when I was a kid.

From the local Rotary website:

Mayor Durham gave an update on the liquor store lottery that had been held the night before at the City Administration Building. He stated that after the Ordinance for sale of liquor passed this Spring the City Commission voted to limit the number of liquor stores within the city to four stores, which is one for every 2,500 citizens in the city.

Expect scenes of depravity as demon rum and mother’s ruin are loosed onto the streets of the Burg.

Personally, I’m saddened a little that I will no longer be able to truthfully tell astounded Brits that I hailed from a bone dry town and a semi-dry county.

The truth about wine

It’s fun for a while

But eventually it all ends in tears

Somewhere in the world, it’s cocktail hour

The Croydonian has an interesting map of global drinking ages.

All I can say is,

• if I’d only known, I’da been in Italy when I was 16
• The US has a drinking age more in line with Muslim countries