Showing posts with label drink. Show all posts
Showing posts with label drink. 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, 22 February 2013

Odd place to start a turn-up



‘You know she’s in the jug, don’t you? Silly little baggage! Some rumpus at the Royal Academy — well, it’s original, hand her that. When I heard about it, I thought “Well, bigod, that’s one ken they never slung you out of.” Odd place to start a turn-up; don’t even serve drink there, I believe.’



Mr American, p.386, Pan Books, paperback edition 1982.


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Friday, 25 January 2013

Dam’ few crowned heads



      And their Christianity don't run to morality, not far at least. They lie and deceive with a will, drink to excess, slaughter each other for amusement, and the women couple like stoats. The corollary to their adage that ‘a virtuous woman is a crown to husband’ is that there are dam’ few crowned heads in Abyssinia, and hear, hear! say I, for ’twould be a cruel shame to have all that splendid married pulchritude going to waste.



Flashman on the March, p.22, Harper Collins, paperback edition 2005.


(With thanks to Dundrillon for suggesting this quote.)


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Monday, 23 April 2012

A notorious wastrel



When you're a queen of unblemished virtue, devoted to Duty and the high moral tone, and your son and Heir to the Throne is a notorious wastrel who counts all time lost when he ain't stuffing, swilling, sponging off rich toad-eaters and rogering anything in skirts, you're apt to be censorious . . .


Flashman and the Tiger, p.213, 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, 13 April 2012

This means nothing to me



 . . . the whole quarter reeked of money, privilege, and luxury in doubtful taste. It was reckoned to be the richest Upper Ten outside London, and the two hundred families of princes, counts, and assorted titled trash spent ten million quid among ’em per annum, which ain’t bad for gaslight and groceries. They spent more, ate more, drank more, danced more, and fornicated more than any other capital on earth (and that's Fetridge* talking, not me) . . .

*Footnote 23. W. Pembroke Fetridge was the author of The American Traveller's Guide: Harper's Handbook for Travellers in Europe, which first appeared in 1862. Flashman probably had the 1871 edition.


Flashman and the Tiger, p.185, Harper Collins, paperback edition 2000.


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Thursday, 9 June 2011

Scout first



Coward’s instinct if you like, but if I’m still here and in good health, bar my creaky kidneys and a tendency to wind, it’s because I shy at motes, never mind beams — and I don’t walk straight in where I can scout first.

Flashman and the Mountain of Light, p.172, Fontana Paperback edition, 1991.



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Monday, 20 September 2010

Mixing their drinks



...Mangas held an enormous jollification on corn-beer and pine-bark spirit and a fearsome cactus tipple called mescal; they don't mind mixing their drinks, those fellows, and got beastly foxed.


Flashman and the Redskins, p.164, Pan Books edition, 1983.



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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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Monday, 5 July 2010

Dry eternity



“There’s no drinking after death.”


Flashman's Lady, p.179, Pan edition, 1979.



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Friday, 5 February 2010

Every limb but one



I could only gape; whether it was the drink, or admiration or what, I don’t know, but I seemed paralysed in every limb but one.



Flashman in the Great Game, p.103, Pan edition, 4th printing, 1979.




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Thursday, 4 February 2010

Nothing thirstier



…there’s nothing thirstier than a dry Gilzai – if you think all Muslims abstain, I can tell you of one who didn’t.



Flashman in the Great Game, p.100, Pan edition, 4th printing, 1979.




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Monday, 4 January 2010

Full of zeal and athirst for glory



…he was one of your play-up-and-fear-God paladins, full of zeal and athirst for glory, was John, and said his prayers and didn’t drink and thought women were either nuns or mothers.



Flashman in the Great Game, p.61, 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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Thursday, 20 August 2009

Just nuts to them



… the Cossacks were free, independent tribesmen; they had land, and paid little tax, had their own tribal laws, drank themselves stupid, and served the Tsar from childhood till they were fifty because they loved to ride and fight and loot – and they liked nothing better than to use their nagaikas on the serfs, which was just nuts to them.



Flashman at the Charge, p.147, 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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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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Friday, 7 November 2008

Reserve your spite



Of course, when you’re old and fairly well pickled in drink you can forgive most things past , and reserve your spite for the neighbours who keep you awake at night and the children who get under your feet.



Royal Flash, p.270, Pan edition, 8th printing, 1978.




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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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