Drink Like… the Galaxy

g and t 2


“It is a curious fact, and one to which no-one knows quite how much importance to attach, that something like 85 percent of all known worlds in the Galaxy, be they primitive or highly advanced, have invented a drink called jynnan tonyx, or gee-N’N-T’N-ix, or jinond-o-nicks, or any one of a thousand variations on this phonetic theme.


The drinks themselves are not the same, and vary between the Sivolvian ‘chinanto/mnigs’ which is ordinary water served just above room temperature, and the Gagrakackan ‘tzjin-anthony-ks’ which kills cows at a hundred paces; and in fact the only one common factor between all of them, beyond the fact that their names sound the same, is that they were all invented and named before the worlds concerned made contact with any other worlds.”

The Restaurant at the End of the Universe

Douglas Adams


The gin and tonic is a highball cocktail made with gin and tonic water (what a surprise) poured over ice and garnished with lemon, lime, or sometimes cucumber.  While the ingredients are relatively simple, the ratio of gin to tonic water varies depending on personal taste and the type of gin one uses.


g and t


Douglas Adams, as one of the masters of the quirky detail, takes the idea of the gin and tonic and turns it into a trans-galactic treat. Even though the recipe differs from planet to planet,  the idea that there is something connecting most of the known worlds is enough to make you raise your glass to the stars before enjoying that first sip.


7 and 7 – The Hangover

I’ve done 3 rounds of 7 and 7’s describing quotes about different kinds of alcohol, quotes about beers, and quotes for cheers and toasts. Now after all that drinking comes a terrible downside. So, this last round of 7 and 7 covers quotes about the terrifying and sometimes unavoidable hangover.




And the following are two wonderful descriptions of a hangover:


Fat Charlie was thirsty and his head hurt and his mouth tasted evil and his eyes were too tight in his head and all his teeth twinged and his stomach burned and his back was aching in a way that started around his knees and went up to his forehead and his brains had been removed and replaced with cotton balls and needles and pins which was why it hurt to try and think, and his eyes were not just too tight in his head but they must have rolled out in the night and been reattached with roofing nails; and now he noticed that anything louder than the gentle Brownian motion of air molecules drifting softly past each other was above his pain threshold. Also, he wished he were dead.

Anansi Boys

Neil Gaiman




Dixon was alive again. Consciousness was upon him before he could get out of the way; not for him the slow, gracious wandering from the halls of sleep, but a summary, forcible ejection. He lay sprawled, too wicked to move, spewed up like a broken spider-crab on the tarry shingle of morning. The light did him harm, but not as much as looking at things did; he resolved, having done it once, never to move his eyeballs again. A dusty thudding in his head made the scene before him beat like a pulse. His mouth had been used as a latrine by some small creature of the night, and then as its mausoleum. During the night, too, he’d somehow been on a cross-country run and then been expertly beaten up by secret police.

He felt bad.”

Lucky Jim

Kingsley Amis