Sat in front of the telly last week the squeeze and I were watching a Jamie Oliver Christmas Special. Watching Jamie Oliver Christmas specials is not something I’d recommend unless you like your intelligence insulted by an irritating fake cockney twat but I find myself sitting through all manner of shite from time to time in the hope that the evening will end in sexual intercourse. Sometimes it does, sometimes it doesn’t but I do it through a belief that the lucky night is tonight. Insult of the evening, and insult of all insults was the bit where his guest, welsh piss head foxy single mother of two and former voice of an angel Charlotte Church decided to show us how to make a drink called “cheeky vimto” This is an insult because the drink in question is hardly complicated to make. It involves chucking a large port in a pint pot, pouring in a blue WKD (vodka alcopop) and necking. I do not need to be shown this, even if Charlotte Church has lost a bit of weight and is looking half decent these days. It gets its name not because it contains Vimto but because it tastes a bit like Vimto, a none alcoholic fruit cordial popular in the north of England. Whilst Vimto is primarily marketed as a kids drink, its origins as a cordial during the early 20th century temperance movement is somewhat forgotten by Vimto lovers today, of which I count myself as one. I love the stuff. Vimto rocks.
Now this story in its own rambling way has a point because a good while back I introduced my polite well educated and slightly posh lady squeeze to my rather less posh cousins, a delightful group of robust fun loving northern girls that introduced the love of my life to cheeky Vimto. A drink my squeeze enjoyed a great deal that evening to the point showing me she wasn’t as posh as she makes out, behaving as lairy as my drunken cousins, threatening to slap a girl that talked to me, vomiting in the gutter, having a cab refuse our carriage, demanding sex when we got home, and knocking my confidence ever so slightly by falling asleep coitus diebus. She hadn’t drunk cheeky Vimto since.
However tonight she decided she would quite like a cheeky Vimto, but unfortunately we had neither of the 2 ingredients in the house. A vodka and actual Vimto is just not the same, she said. Fast forward a couple of days and we were in a well known supermarket buying more Christmas food that either of us could possibly eat even if half the country invited itself over for a Christmas mince pie. What appears in the trolley when I’m not looking? A four pack of blue WKDs and a bottle of port. Now this was an opportunity to educate the squeeze in a bit of the core principles of cooking lager enthusiasm. “Hang on love what is this?” I enquired. “I fancy a cheeky Vimto, I can have one if I want, I’m not going to be sick on you” was the reply. “That’s not at issue my love, look at the shelf, £4.49 a four pack but 2 for £7. A quid is knocked off each four pack when you buy 2. £3.50 a four pack. But look closer, there is a box of 12 for £9, and that’s £3 a four pack, but the box of 12 is on two for £14. The cheapest blue WKD’s are 2 12 packs”. She did mutter something about wanting a cheeky Vimto but not 24 cheeky Vimtos but by then the trolley contained the bargain and I was working out price per gram in my head of two differently priced and sized jars of honey. That’s what I do, that’s how I shop, and that’s how I roll.
One issue I had that didn’t appear to bother the squeeze was that I in contrast to her found it a drink that is quite difficult to neck more than one of. The sweetness is great but for me, one is enough. Oh and that night I did get lucky and no she wasn’t sick on me. Result.