The number one cup
On the sauce: Pimm's
by
Mr Tipple
uploaded: 28-06-2004
Against an azure blanket of summer sky, with murmur of midge in heady meadows and the gentle gush of river bank, British Summer crawls forth and for a short while, the endless of misery of our futile existence gives way to a gleaming wide-eyed hope of balmy hedonism and a New Life... Oh alright - yes, it’s time for a glass or two of Pimm’s…
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"But, as with gin, punctual trains and senseless massacre, only by reclaiming these things for the people can those unpleasant colonial connotations be dissolved" |
The last few years have seen a dramatic change in the British summer of yore. The wink of sun on a June Monday morning, followed by the refreshing grey of rain until a week of cancerous heat in August has been replaced by the same, but more so. Now we get days of apocalyptic rain interspersed with weeks of the dry scorching weather of Southern Europe – which provide us, on balance, with more sultry days to fill with nothing.
As a die-hard bon vivant, on such afternoons I can often be found in parks throwing rocks at ducks while filled with liquid refreshment. And the essence of this traditional summer pastime, for me, as it is with so many people, is the glory we call Pimm’s No.1 Cup. The only reason to watch tennis.
The history of Pimm’s is shrouded in lies, but the facts are: somebody named Pimm invented it, it was invented in London and it tastes great. But if you want a history lesson, go back to school. I’m here to discuss the heavenly experience of drinking the damn stuff. In theory Wimbledon is the quintessential Pimm’s location, although drinking Pimm’s in the rain is an acquired taste. However, the ideal experience should involve afternoons (Sundays are good), laziness (Sundays also, though any day will suffice), and large blobs of yellow sun, empty sky and prickly heat.
There are, however, critics who argue Pimm’s smacks of Empire and Colonialism, and to an extent, there is truth in this. But, as with gin, punctual trains and senseless massacre, only by reclaiming these things for the people can those unpleasant connotations be dissolved. And so it is, with every sip of the pearl of London, I, and countless like me, are kicking against centuries of oppression. There will never be a revolution in Britain (the Daily Mail would never sanction it), but we can tear down the walls of inequality systematically. Geezers buy Burberry, I drink Pimm’s. Each making waves in our own little way.
The real beauty of Pimm’s, though, is that to the truly lazy, a well-mixed concoction, with all the trappings, removes the need for lunch, and forces healthy eating by stealth. Just as that Poppins woman claimed for sugar and medicine, so Pimm’s with fruit and veg. It was a desperate man with a surplus of cucumbers who must have first pushed the idea, but God bless that serendipitous moment. Now cucumbers have two uses. (The other is as an adequate substitute for light sabre when you are trying to make grocery shopping interesting. Why do girlfriends never see this?)
It is difficult to write a guide to Pimm’s as the window for use is so limited, and the tales of woe and destruction scarce, that this article may as well have said – Pimms, lovely with heat. Go and drink some before global warming really kicks in, and the new ice age makes it obsolete. Get it while you can.
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Pimm's - a perfect sunny afternoon tipple
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