27 October 2008

Liquid Smoking

Dept of WTF Next:

Someone's come up with "a fruit-flavoured herbal drink that claims to deliver the same fix as cigarettes." Ugh.

"Called Liquid Smoking, it promises an instant high followed by a 'euphoric calming feeling'." Double ugh.

Targeted at those who can no longer light up inside public premises under the smoking ban but want to feed their cravings.

Ah well, no need for roobish like that here in blessèd Hellas, Doxa to Theo - we light up every- and anywhere we like, cadge a light off the fruitier's glowing Assos, borrow the lighter on the banker's desk, use the candle on the restaurant table.

Speaking of restaurants, do try to see In Bruges where Colin Farrell is back in Irish form and put the restaurant scene on slo mo' where he's dining the divine Clémence Poésy, she goes to powder her retroussé and the neighbouring table of Americans (excellently cast but uncredited) moan about her cig smoke drifting over.

The Yank muttering away and suddenly Farrell dukes him a proper one: "That's for John Lennon, you American c**t." The lady then swings at CF with the vino bouteille that he sways back to evade and then cold cocks her a splendid one:

"A bottle, is it? Don't bother."

When my pal Alex from Pittsburgh PA came to stay in my Swiss Cottage piole , we did some drinking around the haunts.

chick smokingIn the 'Windsor Castle' was a berk no one paid much attention to, despite his penchant for flashing a switchblade, twirling it with much light-catching skill. Anyone who'd annoy him, he'd hold it up and make empty threats to which we'd shrug and go back to our pints.

Natch, the day came when he did it to Al who wasn't used to steel unclasped sans business being intended.

"Hey yankee boy, don't look at my woman that way 'less you want some of this." Ignored. "I'm talking to you."

Al looked at me for guidance on local lore and etiquette, I shrugged and Al signaled the jerk to meet him outside.

Bit of dancing and weaving and swapping the knife hand to hand at which Al blanched and asked him to please put it down or at least not cut him bad. When chummie looked at his pals in triumph Al took the knife hand and twisted it cruelly, punching the guy with t'other fist.

Retrieving the knife from where it had skidded, he knelt down by the idiot and hammered his knuckles: "Anaethestic."

Then he rammed the tip under his 'pinkie' and with one upward jerk took the nail out.

Bit of yelping.

"Don' ever show me a blade if you don't intend to use it."

Back to 'Bruges' and the priest that Farrell guns down: tell me if Ciarán Hinds isn't the spitting image of Gabriel Byrne.

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