Pumping hot lead into the head of a sleeping baboon might work in ridding your wine farm from a troop of primates causing wanton destruction including hungrily uprooting vines, stealing organic seed-loaf from restaurants and the non-consensual shagging of the farm manager’s spayed Labrador, Tina.
The lanes are broad and leafy, the air is that of well-heeled gratitude for the general success enjoyed by residents and businesses in Cape Town’s Constantia suburb. An off-shoot ridge of Table Mountain casts an imposing shadow over this area which has a deserved reputation for fine wines, extraordinary eating experiences and general good taste.
One of the rules about imbibing states one should never drink alcohol when thirsty. I never got the memo.
Thirst, real throat-scorching, spleen-drying thirst can for me only be quenched by a few healthy slurps of cold booze. Beer, icy and foamy, is an obvious candidate. Novelist Jay McInerney even used beer when reviewing a particularly good batch of cocaine in Bright Lights, Big City. Something about the snort of Bolivian marching powder being as gorgeously satisfying as a “sip of cold beer on a hot summer’s day”.