I’m not sure when I started drinking Diet Coke. It was probably when a friend of mine pointed out that there was no point drinking calories. But have you tried it with vodka? It’s like draining your car’s engine oil and replacing it with brylcreem because it’s kind of oily. Unless you have one of those fancy hybrids, which practically run on recycled hair-product anyway.
Being surrounded by Americans, I feel a little home sick from time to time, yearning for the sarcastic lambasting of a handful of lager drenched cohorts in a pub with sticky floors.
One way in which this manifests itself is in the romantic notion that British cars are anything other than rusting piles of hand-made cack. Sure they might be trimmed in walnut, and have interiors lovingly crafted from gently raised soft-skinned cows, but are they worth buying? Last time I was in Blighty, everyone was tooling around in tiny French, Japanese and German cars. Maybe that was because it was snowing – all the British cars wouldn’t have started.
So there’s no logical reason to buy British, it’s purely fantasy. And it’s purely vodka and coke that have got me to be the winning bidder (so far – please save me and buy this rolling 13MPG money pit) on a 1980s Rolls Royce on eBay. Lard have mercy.
I think the moral of the story is that gasoline is full of calories, it’s hard to get drunk without calories, and if you could run cars on coca cola, there’d be lots more decisions to make if you had a hangover and a long drive home.