Ah yes, Hrothgar. I remember SPEW-mante. People used to insist on bringing it to my parties and leaving it behind, while drinking all the good reds and chardonnays. I would usually take one of these along to the next party, and do the same thing. Life's too short to drink bad wine ;-)

Even longer ago, I remember my friends getting large flagons of wine, simply for the purpose of getting drunk. Disgusting stuff it was, but it worked - which leads of course, to this song:

The Wine Song   

There are those who like their wine
Because it adds sophistication
To that hearty meal they're serving to their friends.
And there are those who like their wine
Because it helps in the creation
Of that party feel on which so much depends.
And there are those who'd like their wine
To come from eastward-facing chateaux
On the plateaux of Lorraine and all that bunk
But their motives are not mine
And I like lots and lots of wine
And I like it 'cos it makes me drunk.

There are those who take a glass
Because it helps them to relax
They find it helps their social manner to improve
Well, that's a jolly useful scheme
Which I have taken to its logical extreme:
I sometimes get so well-relaxed I can't move
And there's another kind of fellow
Drinks champagne to make him mellow
And he swears by Cliquot, Bollinger and Brut
Well, I tried some Brut meself
I found it on the bathroom shelf
And he was right: it got me mellow as a newt.

You can judge your wine by the quality of the vine,
Or its colour or bouquet or all that junk.
But it all comes back to the falling over factor
And the fact that it gets you drunk.

There are those who like to think
That it's important what you drink
They haven't got an inkling what it's all about
They spent their evenings wasting
Decent drinking time by tasting
Drops of this and that, then spitting it all out.
They pass along the tables
Strewth, they even read the labels
Muttering things like, "What a shame
The cork has shrunk"
Or "fruity nose" or "too much tannin"
When they ought to get a man in
Who appreciates the chance to get drunk.


They waste their time describing
What they ought to be imbibing
Which is wine of course, although you'd never think it.
'Cos they use words like "young but promising, "
"Precocious," "full of fun";
You'd have thought they were going to adopt the stuff
Not drink it.
And at a meal these silly asses
Have a row of empty glasses
A different wine with every dish they eat.
Me, I mix whatever's handy
In a stiff, all-purpose shandy
Which goes very nice with fish or Shredded Wheat.

You can judge your wine by the quality of the vine
Or its colour, or bouquet or all that junk
But it all comes back to the falling over factor
And the fact that it gets you drunk

And there are those who take delight
Pronouncing all the labels right
They roll their r's and do those German glottals.
Me, I couldn't give a monkey's
'Cos the stuff for getting drunk is
On the inside not the outside of the bottles
So if you have a cheese and wine
Invite your friendly Philistine
Call me drunkard, call me sot
Or call me wino. What do I know?
You'll find me in the kitchen
I'll be giggerlin' and twitchin'
Having a sup and throwing up
Across your lino

You can judge your wine by the quality of the vine
Or its colour, or bouquet, if you insist…
But it all comes back to the falling over factor
And the fact that it gets you
Misty-eyed and mellow, gets you
Maudlin, mawkish, miserable and pissed.