Ode to the Christmas Bartender


Introducing Your New Horsemen of the Apocalypse


In the old days things were simple. There was War, Death, Famine and Disease as harbingers of the apocalypse. Nowadays however things have got much more complicated. Famine has faded thanks to GM wheat, Wars have become Police Actions or Nation Building Efforts, whilst Disease never truly recovered from Penicillin. Even Death itself can be held permanently at bay if Barry Manilow is anything to go by.

So after months of painstaking research I have finally uncovered the identities of the four new horsemen of the apocalypse; mighty blights upon humanity waiting patiently to usher in the end of days.

To know them is to fear them.

1) Selfies

Facial Expression 1-267

Facial Expression 1-267

Making narcissism fashionable in a way not seen since ancient Rome, Selfies have replaced Disease in the saddle and seem equally contagious judging from Kim Kardashian’s attempts to record a lifetime’s worth of facial expressions in chronological order, aided greatly by her having only one.

Also to be feared are it’s nightmarish companions Go pro and Selfie Stick. Go Pro now means we can witness your boring a** day first hand, from your gentle commute to work through unresisting traffic, to that water-slide you once screamed your way down, which was really about as scary as a death threat from a Care Bear. Meanwhile Selfie Stick has made carrying a shaft with a comfortable handle cool in a way not seen since Victorian England.

2) Mid Season Finales


If you cut that man’s head off and then go on a three month break I am not tuning into your f*****g program anymore!

Now that War has skulked off to a corner never to return, unless Vladimir Putin has his way, comes the pox that is the Mid Season Finale. Whilst initially not as threatening on a global scale, they do succeed in making everyone following that show utterly f*****g miserable until they return…TWICE!

Originally sparked by a program shortage in the aftermath of the 2010 Writers Strike, which was itself caused by network owners attempting to pay writers in actual peanuts, the mid season finale does not respect national boundaries and can strike anytime and anywhere. Also like Vladimir Putin come to think of it.

3) Spokesmodel’s


Rosie would like you to try Coke Life.

Replacing famine and quite possibly because of it, comes the dark spectre that is the Spokesmodel, proving that when the apocalypse does come it will be laced with irony.

Recruiting a profession that doesn’t need to actually talk for a living to speak on behalf of them represents something of an about turn for many brands, who until now were willing to use anything short of chloroform and a ball gag to stop their models speaking in public.

The results are quite simply terrifying, if aesthetically pleasing.

4) Robin Thicke


And his name was Robin. And hell followed with him.

Despite all my hours of research I could find no other rational explanation for Robin Thicke’s fame, except perhaps some kind of demonic intervention. Not satisfied I decided to prove it conclusively by playing Blurred Lines backwards and was stunned to discover that it was actually slightly less misogynistic that way.

There can be no doubt that when the end finally comes Robin will be riding the pale horse across the lake of fire and, lets face it, probably copping a feel as he goes.

 I Was There: The Night Someone Tipped

Cameron Pig-Gate: We Talk to the Pig

Filthy Still – a tale of travel, sex and perfectly made cocktails. Out now on Amazon. ‘Hilarious. Like an Alcoholics Bridget Jones – My London Lifestyle Magazine.

Cameron Pig-Gate – We Talk to the Pig


The British establishment was rocked this week by shock allegations that Prime Minister David Cameron once placed his flaccid member in the mouth of a dead pig whilst attending a university dining function in the mid 1980s.

These suggestions, made by a former friend and colleague who is in no way making a bitter headline grab to pimp a new book, have gripped the nation, but we can exclusively reveal that the pig in question is not dead but living quietly on a farm near Yeovil, Somerset, and who agreed to speak out on condition of anonymity.

“I don’t see what all the fuss is about. ” He told us. “I mean, Christ, I’m the one who had Dave’s elephantine p***s placed gently in my mouth and you don’t see me bitching about it, do you?”

He continued by adding: “Why do people have to make something beautiful seem so dirty? And surely it’s no worse than the Labour Party putting their k**bs in the willing mouths of the Trade Unions every thirty seconds.”

“Christ, just look at any British public school; you take a bunch of semi-inbred adolescent toffs and stick them in a glorified gulag for five years and you’d be amazed where their penises end up. My friend Corkscrew didn’t get his nickname from his love of wine. you know. If we start holding that s**t against people then there’s going to be an awful lot of folk who went to Harrow and Eton getting real nervous, real fast.”

When asked how things were left with the Prime Minister after the night in question the Pig told me:

“Me and big D stayed friends for a while, but we just drifted apart. It’s sad, but, well, I guess it happens.”

The Prime Minister was unavailable for comment at this time.

I Was There: The Night Someone Tipped

What-the-F**k just happened?

What-the-F**k just happened?

As a journalist I‘m no stranger to the strange and bizarre, and I confess I heard the story many times over the years, but always put it down to urban myth, or the fanciful ravings of drunken bartenders.

The fact that it persisted always intrigued me. So I started digging, more as a hobby at first, and many times I got excited only to have the claim revealed to be nothing more than a cruel hoax.

Then one cool November evening I discovered that it was in fact all true. It had really happened. I immediately travelled to the spot in question to see for myself and speak to those who were present.

What I found humbled me.

London 2015

WunderBar in London’s fashionable Soho is a pleasant, if unspectacular, place considering what happened there. Dave Parks, the bartender who received the tip is still working behind the bar. “I guess just couldn’t bring myself to leave. He told me.

To this day Dave doesn’t like to speak about what happened, but after much coaxing he finally opened up, the strain clearly visible even after all these years.

Dave: The guy didn’t seem different. I can’t say I even really noticed him at first. I mean it’s not like I was even that friendly!

BKH: What went through your mind?

Dave: Honestly? Nothing. I just…stared. I’d heard stories, mostly from American friends, but to actually see it? (Begins to cry.) It was just so unexpected.

BKH: Do you need a hankie?

Dave: I’ll be OK in a moment

Dave wasn’t the only one whose memories remain vivid. Akbar Parkinson, 36, worked security on the night in question.

Akbar: When I saw Dave’s face I knew something was wrong. Then I saw the guy reach for something in his pocket. I thought he was going for a weapon! I mean, Christ, you just never suspect. Personally I blame the bosses. They just don’t prepare you for this.

Monica Krypney, 24, a former waitress was also there on that fateful night.

Monica: I left the industry shortly after. I just couldn’t…(voice trails off.) It just made me ask too many questions, OK?

Described as a white male in his early forties with dark hair and a moustache, no one knows who the unnamed man was, or where he came from and despite many years of searching no one in Britain has heard any more of him, or for that matter, anyone like him.

The only sign he ever existed now is a small plaque at the spot where he sat. It’s a simple marker; embossed bronze with a tasteful embedding of rubies, but I feel it honours the man’s act of kindness, and his contribution to the UK hospitality industry.

The greatest sign of his existence however is how clearly those present remember him.

If you were that man, or you know who he was, please let us know. All calls are anonymous.

 Drunk Experiments 2: Sensory Deprivation in a Cocktail bar

Donald Trump’s Hair Announces Separate White House Run

Drunk Experiments 2: Sensory Deprivation in a Cocktail Bar


Bars are sensory places — the sound of the crowd, the taste of great cocktails, the smell of wood, leather, perhaps a smoking fire. But do you actually need all five senses to enjoy them? That’s the question that gripped me after four cocktails and three successive Jägermeisters. I asked myself, could you perhaps enjoy them more by ridding yourself of one, or even, all but one?

A solid hours work produced The Depravator, an advanced sensory isolation device made from an old welder’s helmet with a blacked out visor, two sets of plugs (nose and ears), and a pair of thick, woolen mittens (touch).

Yes, I have way too much time on my hands.

Location: Bar in fashionable Hoxton, London.

The bar I’ve selected is so cool it doesn’t even have a sign, which makes me wonder how anyone ever finds it. It’s a classy place, a long basement of exposed stone and stained wood, staffed by badger-bearded bartenders in bow ties.

Before I begin I need to set a control so I have a couple of drinks and enjoy the place using all five senses. Then, ready to further the boundless reach of science, I produce The Depravator to suitably impressed, if slightly sarcastic, applause from the staff. Setting it to exclude all but sound, I begin.

I immediately feel strangely vulnerable, but my hearing is dramatically augmented. I distinctly hear the guy next to me say “What the f**k has that k**b got on his head?” Then the background hubbub begins to take cohesion; a girl’s sharp laugh, the magical sound of shaking ice, vintage Bob Dylan on the stereo. I try and taste my drink, but suspect the hipster b*****s behind the bar have moved it. When I finally locate my glass and get it to my face in the wooly mittens I find the flavors sharpened, intensified.

Next up is just smell, which produces some interesting results: I can detect pine cleanser, citrus fruit, crushed mint, cigarette smoke drifting from an open doorway, the warm smell of huddled human bodies. It’s an intriguing and overlooked experience, though the cologne of the guy sat next to me could be used to stun bear.

Sight also proves productive. I immediately notice more about the room — the twinkling of candles, the light from a passing car, which laughter is real, and which is forced, where the staff stopped cleaning the night before. I can also see the looks I’m getting, which I take to be appreciative awe at being present for such ground-breaking science

Finally comes touch; the smooth, surprisingly warm surface of the bar, the vibration of music through the wood, the feel of condensation on my glass when I eventually do locate it, even a small pool of what I suspect to be Irish Cream Liqueur that one of the motherless bartenders places in my path.

Admittedly this scientific endeavor did go downhill shortly after that, especially when one of the staff dared me to try and find the toilet with the eye shield engaged. However I do feel our understanding of the universe was advanced slightly.

So next time you’re in a great bar, close your eyes, breathe deep, run your fingers along the wood and revel in what magical places they really are.

But do not under any circumstances try and negotiate two flights of uneven stone steps with a blindfold on.

Drunk Experiments 1: Hangovers – We Road Test Them!

Bar Wars: USA Vs NZ


I’ve been asked many times what the similarities and differences are between New Zealand bartenders and their counterparts in the USA. And it is a very good question. The similarity is that both make drinks. The difference is that US bartenders subscribe to the theory that the customer is always right, whereas in New Zealand they’re rarely under that illusion.

So in the spirit of fostering peaceful relations I felt we should analyse the different cultural reactions to situations so that we may learn from one another for the benefit of all.

Situation 1
Customer: Asks for anything containing Peach Schnapps.
US Bartender: Prepares a drink containing Peach Schnapps.
NZ Bartender: They will fight you.

Situation 2
Customer: Tells you that your Daiquiri is almost as good as the one they had at TGI Fridays.
US Bartender: Makes mental note to try the Daiquiri at TGI Fridays.
NZ Bartender: Immediately begins to plot your demise.

Situation 3
Customer: Uses the words ‘surprise me’ when ordering drinks.
US Bartender: Digs deep for an obscure recipe from 1857.
NZ Bartender: Has already placed their penis in your drink. In case of female bartender, has already placed the bar-backs penis in your drink.

Situation 4
Customer: Bangs their glass on the bar-top in an attempt to attract attention.
US Bartender: Serves you at their earliest possible opportunity.
NZ Bartender: Has already slept with your girlfriend. Never called her again.

Situation 5
Customer: Gets rowdy and makes a scene.
US Bartender: Presents a well-reasoned argument why this behaviour is unacceptable.
NZ Bartender: Slaps you around the face with a leather glove and calls you a bounder and a cad.

Situation 6
Customer: Orders a large round of complicated drinks at precisely one minute before closing.
US Bartender: Gets started on those there drinks.
NZ Bartender: The smile is angelic but beneath lurks the wrath of the titans.

Situation 7
Customer: Orders a large round of complicated drinks at precisely one minute after closing.
US Bartender: Politely declines on licensing grounds.
NZ Bartender: Politely explains that the nearest comparable organism to you is a sharks retractable penis.

Situation 8
Customer: Tips well
US Bartender: Thanks you profusely with a pleasant smile
NZ Bartender:​ Immediately begins to carve your likeness into Tuscan marble.

Situation: 9
Customer: Tips badly
US Bartender: Pounds on the ground with both fists whilst crying and/or chases you three blocks in any direction.
NZ Bartender: Finishes your statue but doesn’t run over it with a fine polishing cloth.

Situation 10
Customer: Accuses the bartender of being drunk
US Bartender: Denies this unfounded allegation.
NZ Bartender: Confirms that they are indeed blasted before pouring a round of complimentary Jagermeister for all.

The most important thing for us all to remember is that one way is not necessarily better, just different.

Donald Trump’s Hair Announces Separate White House Run

Republican presidential candidate Donald Trump gestures and declares "You're fired!" at a rally in Manchester, New Hampshire, June 17, 2015.  REUTERS/Dominick Reuter      TPX IMAGES OF THE DAY      - RTX1GZCO

Shock news today from the Republican Party with the announcement that Presidential hopeful Donald Trump’s own hair has announced a separate bid for the Oval Office.

In a statement Trump’s hair revealed…

“It’s no secret Big D and I have had ideological differences in the past, but I have been left with no choice but to throw my own hat in the ring. I look forward to discussing the countries problems in the upcoming race, especially those my former mount isn’t interested in – healthcare, wealth disparity, gun control, basically anything that doesn’t involve Mexicans.”

Mr Trump was unavailable for comment but a campaign insider told us,” S**t’s just got real.”

A spokesman for rival Jeb Bush also admitted being deeply troubled by the news.

“All that money and contacts unfettered by Trump’s actual personality? It’s hard enough fighting against the super sized balls up the last two Bushes inflicted on the f****ing country, without dealing with this f*****g bulls**t. I need a f*****g drink. F**k!”

A spokesman for Democrat front-runner Hilary Clinton however welcomed the news.

“Hilary has met Donald’s hair on several occasions and found it refreshingly non-bipartisan, not to mention the senior partner in the whole Trump/Hair dynamic. She looks forward to their first debate.”

Senator John Mccain’s office also supported the move. “Unlike Don himself, his bushy man-fro has served our military with honour and distinction. But then what does John know; he only spent five years in a POW camp that made a crack house toilet look like the Four Seasons. As The Donald keeps pointing out, he’s pretty much just a pussy.”

The latest opinion poll puts Trump’s hair ten points ahead of its former noggin and five points ahead of Mr Bush.