I can honestly say without exaggeration or hyperbole that if it wasn’t for Ginger Beer I would be dead now. Well, maybe a little exaggeration and if I’m pressed an almost embarrassing amount of hyperbole. But, anyway, Ginger Beer has been the sole shining ray of light through many of my darkest hangover moments. When I have to drag my sorry ass to work after too too few hours of sleep, it’s Ginger Beer that gives me the energy and vigour to face up to the many embarrassments of the night before. It’s sort of like the drink Jeeves always prepares for Bertie Wooster after a night on the sauce, only you can get it in newsagents.
As well as its excellent curative powers, it’s also the finest of the soft drinks (or fizzy juice as my brother insists on calling them). Together with a Mars Bar and the Guardian it makes the perfect Saturday morning, and is an ideal accompaniment to a days concerted sofa lying-upon. It’s not as sickly sweet as Coke yet has more flavour than Sprite. If I’m pressed I prefer the Cornish flavours of Idris, but I will quite happily go for the Jamacian Hot. Even Supermarket own brands can sustain me through some painful revision. Hail to thee o Ginger Beer.