Stop your sobbing

I've been meaning to finish this entry for some time.  You may recall a certain emotional week for the ladies shortly before Christmas - "the missing week" - during which an astonishing amount of the ladies' favourite was consumed with particular gusto.  At the end of who knows which of these nights this lady stumbled home scribbling an angered, teary blog post on the back of an expired pack of Camel Lights.

 

Photograph by Sam Perry & Jennifer Smit

As seen on the cover of the excellent 125 Magazine - Issue 6

So why does gin have such a reputation for making our womenfolk cry?  And why, I hear you scream, are you revisiting such nonsense?  Let me explain.

To answer the first question, this myth could be some way explained by gin's popularity amongst the female poor of 18th century London.  'Gin' here, however, describes the bathtub variety produced from the cheapest possible grain and diluted with sugar, fruit, old boots, anything to disguise the abhorrent taste.  As for its female-heavy demographic, well, gin was available to purchase on the street and in corner shops.  Beer, then virtuous by comparison, was confined to ale houses which were of course male-only territories.  Gin thus became associated with good old-fashioned female desperation, not that we know of such things...

Of course, being well-versed in Lady's Eye-water's fabled teary history, this lady isn't one to be fooled by such twaddle.  I know perfectly well, as do my cohorts (here comes the science, brace yourselves) that all types of alcohol are depressants; drugs which slow activity in the brain (we rarely feel such effects thanks to our incalculable intellect / Big Giant Brains) by increasing the production of gamma-amino butyric acid, an amino acid that eventually promotes sleep in the central nervous system.

Why am I revisiting such nonsense?  Well.  It was a normal sort of evening; a private view followed by a delightful dinner with the Ladies of the Lane, where we spoke of important matters such as gin and dresses.  All very lovely as I'm sure you can imagine.  So it was with much surprise that, come 2am this lady found herself storming out of her gentleman friend's abode in tears.  How embarrassing!  How uncouth!  Dear reader, white wine should never precede gin.  Nor should such vast quantities of the aforementioned combination follow a particularly upsetting week.

In any case, our official party line is this: Stick with the science - never, ever drink white wine.

A rather rum party

Hello Sailor! No not that one.... Sailor Jerry of course. Thanks to an invitation from Madame Frou-Frou, the blonde half of DJ duo Hell Kittie Kittie Gin Lane was once again caught up in the world of rum. We see no harm in occasionally mixing our drinks after all. The occasion was the relaunch of Sailor Jerry rum as a cocktail mixer; we danced to the Paris Riots in the City Arts & Music Project whilst working our way through endless rum cocktails served up in jam jars. We always wondered why Granny insisted on keeping so many. Now we know. She predicted there'd be growing market of East London bars bored of traditional glassware. Good on you Granny.

We digress. What did we drink you ask? The classic Jerry and Ginger was followed by Death or Glory (no glory holes tonight thank the lord) and Vanilla Mojitos. The only near gin experience came when a Very Drunk Young Man asked this lady to name her favourite drink. After shouting GIN at him several times it became clear he a) wanted to buy her a drink in a free bar situation b) Alcohol in excess had apparently rendered him deaf and c) he was probably a bit of an idiot. The trays of drinks kept coming and for a Tuesday it all got a bit much. I woke up to a tattoo of an anchor on my arm. A transfer. Rock and roll.

On smell alone...

The most unfortunate of Ladies has spent the last 11 days (go on, count them) in a most disturbingly dry state.  Due to a run in with a dentist resulting in an unexpected extraction, this Lady has been on The Drugs (not the good kind) and therefore not on The Drink for really far too long.  Suffice to say that I was therefore inclined to feel not a little sorry for myself on the night in question when, as per our invitation, we visited one of our number At Home on the Isle of Dogs.

And imagine my further woe when a bottle of a certain recently discovered gin was brought out, tonic was procured and lemon arrived at the table, for the bottle was beauteous.  Greenall's Bloom.

As winner of the 2009 Drinks International Design and Packaging Gold Medal and not one but two Gold Stars for Luxury Product and Designer of the Year, one would expect nothing less.  And then – you can image the torture, lesser Ladies would have fallen – I leant in for a whiff.  O!  What delicate fragrance was this?  Not just the camomile, pomelo (that weird and wonderful fruit, provider of an aroma of citrusy loveliness) and honeysuckle of their advertising blah, but another taste… could it be… quinine?  Like a G&T but just G, which, I would imagine (having not had a drop, I swear it), would slip down the throat with great ease.  How fabulous.  Perhaps the anti-inflammatory qualities of aforementioned alkaloid might help with me tooth ache…