The OriGINal Rebrand

Gin in fancy dress

The Gin Lane Ladies were fortunate to be given a faded parchment which documents the first ever marketing meeting, back when people actually went to market and didn't think about stuff so much. We reprint it here, in its full, dramatised for Radio 4 version.

Scene: 1823, a dark study in the home counties. A faint smell of fish lingers in the air. A man is sitting with his back to us.

Tarquinine enters, he has a rather impressive moustache, "James! How's the oyster business going?"

He turns, "Ah Tarquinine - good to see you. The oysters are selling very well. Commuting is something of a problem as Waterloo, King's Cross and Paddington haven't been built yet, but one mustn't grumble...although..."

"What is it James?"

"It's the gin they drink with the oysters Tarquinine!"

"The gin?!"

"Well the thing is people don't... well they don't really like it! I mean obviously it is medicinal but it's got a bit of tang to it..and the reputation is terrible. Women selling babies clothes and whatnot."

"You're right James - but at least it takes away the taste of those bloody oysters..."

"Well there is that. But we need a way of selling gin so even people who don't like it will drink it..."

"You could...I don't know...disguise it!"

"Disguise it Tarquinine? Maybe I should shave off that moustache of yours and disguise it with that. Haw haw haw!"

"Haw haw haw!" Tarquinine lets out a loud snort, "What I meant dear fellow is just pop along to Covent Garden and buy some of those fruit and vegetables and shove them in the gin..."

"Fruit and vegetables! Are you mad?"

A few days later James wanders round the market. His hand hovers over a potato and a banana. Then he snatches up an orange, a lemon, a cucumber, some strawberries and a fistful of mint. This is ridiculous he thinks. Stupid Tarquinine! Later that afternoon Tarquinine pops into James' oyster bar, customers are quaffing gin with enormous amounts of fruit and vegetables in. Sales have tripled.

"How are you James?"

"Well hello! This was a great idea of mine...the customers are very much enjoying my new drink. I just need massive jugs and a name for it so people don't know it is gin...I might even call it after myself. JAMES!"

Tarquinine is speechless.

"No wait, it shouldn't be James..." Tarquinine looks hopeful. "It should be the family name...I'll call it Pimm's!"

So now you know. Ladies and gentlemen who profess not to like gin at all are actually consuming by the jugful as soon as there is the slightest whiff of sunshine. We rest our case.*

*It's not just Pimm's either, many other household names also disguise their gin origins including Branston Pickle, Coco Pops and PG Tips. A good clue is to look for the Royal warrant as we all know they like a gin or two.

Just my ima-gin-ation

It was a normal kind of evening with this lady and her gentleman friend.  We meandered a stretch of the ancient Roman road Watling Street to take in a view privée of intriguing artworks by an artist whose kaleidoscopic influences apparently include Mallarmé's poetry, British zombie movies and 19th century French millitary painting.  Topped off with a few bottles of freebie(r) and a Yemeni supper.  As I said, a normal sort of evening.

We started about the long walk back east-central, pondering the eating habits of Jack Bauer when this lady's well-trained eye was fish-hooked at twenty paces by a certain unmistakable 11-point type word: gin.

Ladies and gentlemen, Mansfield Cryogenics have moved - this is Purl.  A newly opened Victoriana-infused cocktail den nestled a safe distance from the Chardonnay-thirsty hoardes of the City and the Mojito-swigging trendos of the East.  In fact, the only reason I have ever been in this part of town with booze-thirst before, was on another very normal evening of viewing miniature-man-suits in an old fire station, as one does.  My gentleman friend allowed me the honour of buying the drinks, as it was a Tuesday and it was 10pm and and I could sense that he was, in his head, already watching re-runs of 24.  The cocktail menu regularly changes in this joint, as the leaves from the booze tree fall, but on this balmy June eve I plumped for a Negroni and a Clover Club - both masterfully created with two of the fine array of gins available, with ice carved before my very eyes from a glacier (ok ok, a really big block).  We listened to bizarre Charleston-tinged remixes, sat in the bowels of this Marylebone underworld in a little cave all of our own.

The Gin Lane Ladies don't do reviews (not least because other people are, like, well better - see: Yet Another Gin and that naughty Gin Monkey), but if we did, we'd tell you to go to Purl.  And to order the Foul Moudames at The Queen of Sheba.

Spirit forces at work at the Hendrick's Quarterly Seance

Is anybody there?  We're getting a name.  It's, it's... it's Hendrick's.  We never miss the chance to channel spirits, so earlier this very evening the Ladies were in attendance at the Hendrick's Quarterly Seance, held at the Little Shop of Horrors, the Last Tuesday Society's bonkers headquarters in east London.

You may recall our last brush with the cross-dressing, cucumber-wielding, glory-holed Last Tuesday Society bunch at the Hendrick's masked ball back in September.  This encounter was no less strange, held in the esteemed Viktor Wynd's showroom; a jumble of mutilated soft toys, animal skeletons, mummified penises and other such glorious tat.  All available to purchase, for that perfect stocking filler for Nan.

After a warm greeting from Mr Wynd himself, and a generous offer to see his penis (see 'mummified' above, thank heavens), we were led into a back room by Professor Richard Wiseman and swiftly transported, via a double Hendrick's and tonic, to a reenactment of a Victorian seance.  Sat in total darkness, guided only by little glow-in-the-dark stickers on the incongruous selection of objects scattered on the table, we marveled as our new spirit friend 'Marie' touched the bell (snigger), moved the maracas (chortle) and had a good old play with the ball (snort).

Keep your eye out for more loony goings-on on the Last Tuesday Society website.  Reckon we might stick to the alcoholic spirits from now on though.