Would you actually believe it? It’s been 9 months since I did Saccharine Quarantine, and now we’re actually IN quarantine for real, like I should have come back a month ago when lockdown began, stocked myself up with a whole load of new shitty snacks to rip apart and delivered to all of you some delicious new content to keep you busy during this time of misery and suffering…. well, I didn’t think about all that, BUT turns out I have been forcefully resurrected, brought back from WordPress purgatory by an alcoholic drink so foul, I just had to tell you. Let’s just get down to it.
Some context, I’m a massive fan of Lindisfarne Mead, a fortified wine with a honey based flavour, and although seen as novelty gift material by some, it’s up there on my alcohol podium of champions, just next to John Smith’s of course.
The only snag with Lindisfarne Mead is the availability, the only stockist I know of local to me is an Edinburgh Woolen Mill, which is a shop that specialises mostly in clothing for those far into retirement, and with lockdown rules shutting all of their shops I’m left with precisely nowhere to buy my favourite tipple, and to bring the moral of the story forward, yes, I should have ordered it online directly from the supplier, as you will soon find out.
So imagine my absolute glee when I found this bottle of Harvest Gold Mead sitting on the bottom shelf of the fortified wines in Morrison’s, “it’s not the same obviously, but it may just fill the void!” I thought, stupidly.
For some reason the low price tag of £4.75 (compared with £10.95 for Lindisfarne) and the darker colour, did not for one moment trigger a thought in my head that this may be absolute tripe. I even sent pictures to my pub friends, so proud of my find, the first time I’d seen mead in a major supermarket, like it was some kind of hidden artifact in a Tomb Raider game.
It was actually several days until I opened the bottle, I was saving it for a fortnightly family quiz night we had been doing via video chat during the lockdown, just a nice added bonus to add some extra joy to my evening, you know? Yes, you’re laughing at me now, knowing exactly where this is going, and yes, we’re nearly there.
I unscrew the cap, ready for the friendly, sweet, caressing aroma of my lost love, only to be met with the stench of a pair of sweat drenched socks that have been worn for 3 months solid, left outside on a hot day and then covered in honey. Undettered, still in denial, I pour my usual serving and take a sip. Now I’m dettered.
It’s bad beyond belief, the kind of bad where your brain is telling you that this shit is not to be consumed by human beings, there’s no hint of care or quality, it’s bitter, sour, it’s got a horrendous aftertaste, it’s just a load of random spirit pissed into a glass bottle with a dollop of honey, swirled around and mixed up, then plonked on the shelf waiting for dumbo here to be fooled and caught in it’s trap. It’s just undrinkable. UN-FUCKING-DRINKABLE.
I’m not going to pour it away, no, I’m going to keep it, so I can get every single person who comes over to the house to sample some, and suffer just like I did, until one day, someone actually likes the taste and takes it off my hands, although in that case I think I’ll be holding onto this sewage for a long, long time.
P.S. This was my 100th Saccharine Quarantine post, I would drink to that but I’ve got fuck all in.
SQ 2 