Showing posts with label alcohol. Show all posts
Showing posts with label alcohol. Show all posts

Friday, 12 April 2013

Doubting Flashy



‘ . . . that’s your own Congressional medal down there, among all the foreign stuff. Ten bucks a year I still get for that — Sam Grant must be turning his grave.’ He raised his glass. ‘Here’s to Sam — when in doubt, have a drink.’


Mr American, p.518, Pan Books, paperback edition 1982.


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Friday, 21 September 2012

Delicious little balls



There was a curried pastry which Uliba-Wark divided among the four of us, and some delicious little balls like the bittebolle they serve n Holland, only these weren’t meat but, as I discovered on inquiry, powdered locusts bound with fat. It was too late by then, so I calmed my stomach with some of the liquor they call tej, which is a fermentation of honey and barley, guaranteed to put you under the table if you ain’t careful, but capital in moderation.


Flashman on the March, p.68, Harper Collins, paperback edition 2005.


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Thursday, 3 May 2012

Chicken broth and flannel





. . .  I'd shared Langtry with him, behind his back, and done my duty by pretty Daisy — as who hadn't ? Not La Keppel, though; she was after my time, worse luck, not heaving into view until I'd reached what Macaulay calls the years of chicken broth and flannel, when you realise how dam’ ridiculous you'd look chasing dollymops young enough to be your daughter, and seek solace in booze, baccy, and books. Regrettable, of course, but less tiring and expensive.


Flashman and the Tiger, p.223, Harper Collins, paperback edition 2000.


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Monday, 16 April 2012

Like a Mississippi pilot



. . . and a slender, red-headed piece who drank like a Mississippi pilot, with no visible effect.



Flashman and the Tiger, p.187, Harper Collins, paperback edition 2000.


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Friday, 7 January 2011

Cut up and sold



…he was flat on his back and snoring in an atmosphere you could have cut up and sold in the pubs.

Flashman and the Dragon, p.74, Fontana Paperback edition, 1986.



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Thursday, 26 August 2010

Daren't drink anything else



      Fifteen dollars a bottle they were charging for claret at the Planters’ Hotel in St Louis that year, and it was like drinking swamp-water when the mules have been by; I’ve tasted better in a London ladies’ club. But you daren’t drink anything else because of the cholera…


Flashman and the Redskins, p.54, Pan Books edition, 1983.




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Tuesday, 24 August 2010

Terrifying yearning



She looked at me with a truly terrifying yearning; I’d seen nothing like it since the doctors were putting the strait-jacket on my guvnor and whisking the brandy out of his reach.


Flashman and the Redskins, pp.42-43, Pan Books edition, 1983.




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Wednesday, 11 August 2010

Keep your thumb out of it



      “Depends which ones you’re talking about,” says I. “Now, Spotted Tail was a gentleman. Chico Velasquez, on the other hand, was an evil vicious brute. But you probably never met either of ‘em. Care for a brandy?”
      He went pink. “I thank you, no. By gentlemen, I suppose,” he went on, bristling. “you mean one who has despaired to the point of submission, while brute would no doubt describe any sturdy independent patriot who resisted the injustice of an alien rule, or revolted against broken treaties—“
      “If sturdy independence consists of cutting off women’s fingers and fringing your buckskin with them, then Chico was a patriot, no error,” says I. “Mind you, that was the soft end of his behaviour. Hey waiter, another one, and keep your thumb out of it, d’ye hear?”

Flashman and the Redskins, pp.18-19, Pan Books edition, 1983.

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Thursday, 25 March 2010

Military intelligence, Flashman style



Intelligence work is nuts to me* , so long as I can stay close to bed, bottle and breakfast and don’t have to venture out.


*Not in the sense of crazy or unbalanced, but rather an enjoyable pursuit.

 
Flashman in the Great Game, p.246, Pan edition, 4th printing, 1979.



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Thursday, 29 October 2009

Seeking sorrow and raving heroically



The terrible thing was that I remembered the battle very clearly, and my own incredible behaviour – I knew I’d gone bawling about like a Viking in drink, seeking sorrow and raving heroically in murderous rage, but I couldn’t for the life of me understand why. It had been utterly against nature, instinct and judgement – and I knew it hadn’t been booze, because I hadn’t had any, and anyway the liquor hadn’t been distilled that could make me oblivious of self-preservation. It appalled me, for what security does a right-thinking coward have, if he loses his sense of panic?



Flashman at the Charge, pp.281-2, Pan edition, 5th printing, 1979.




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Friday, 4 September 2009

A Baptist hermit



Russians, in my experience, are part-drunk most of the time, but if there’s a sober soul between the Black Sea and the Capsian for weeks after the Rostov kermesse he must be a Baptist hermit.



Flashman at the Charge, p.211, Pan edition, 5th printing, 1979.




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Wednesday, 12 August 2009

It’s black, it’s thick, and it makes you drunk



Their [Russian serfs] drink was as bad – bread fermented in alcohol which they called qvass (‘it’s black, it’s thick, and it makes you drunk,’ as they said), and on special occasions vodka, which is just poison. They’ll sell their souls for brandy, but seldom get it.



Flashman at the Charge, p.144, Pan edition, 5th printing, 1979.




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Tuesday, 19 May 2009

Little Willy



Little Willy, in the meantime, was taking to all this excitement like a Scotchman to drink.



Flashman at the Charge, p.38, Pan edition, 5th printing, 1979.




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Friday, 1 May 2009

the legions of bottles




He would be in his mid-fifties by now, and it showed; the whiskers were graying, the gooseberry eyes were watery, and the legions of bottles he had consumed had cracked the viens in that fine nose of his. But he still rode as straight as a lance, and if his voice was wheezy it had lost nothing of its plunger drawl.



Flashman at the Charge, p.26, Pan edition, 5th printing, 1979.




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Wednesday, 4 March 2009

Too thick to drink




I remember what Sam Grant said about it [the Mississippi River] : ‘Too thick to drink and too thin to plough. It stinks.’ Not that he’d have drunk it anyway, unless it had been pure corn liquor from Cairo down.



Flash For Freedom!, pp.164-65, Pan edition, 8th printing, 1980.




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Monday, 20 October 2008

Fiery warmth



Then they presented me with a flask of schnapps, and I sent half of it down my throat at once, and felt the fiery warmth running back along my limbs. I poured a little into my palm and rubbed it on my face and neck – a trick Mackenzie taught me in Afghanistan; nothing like it for the cold, if you can spare the liquor.



Royal Flash, p.235, Pan edition, 8th printing, 1978.




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