Six fruit juices and a thimble of value gin: the cocktails offered by your local shit bar

THEY think they’re a cut above an ordinary boozer but the drinks on offer suggest otherwise. Here are the abysmal concoctions your local bar dares to call cocktails.

Six Fruit Juices and a Thimble of Value Gin

If you’ve ever eaten an entire packet of Skittles in one mouthful, you’ll know what this drink tastes like. They’ll call it something like ‘the Eliminator’ and promise it’ll get you smashed, but the only thing it eliminates is your body’s insulin levels. Get ready for a sugar crash that will be almost as bad as a hangover.

The Slightly Problematic Tropical One

Mix rum, pineapple juice and Malibu, shake, and pour into a Tiki glass with an umbrella. Technically, it’s neither a Piña Colada, nor a Zombie, so they’ll call it something vague and exotic like ‘Caribbean Smash’. If they’re feeling particularly edgy they might even call it ‘the Kolonial’, but only until someone writes a letter of complaint to the local newspaper.

The Shit Martini

You hear Martini, you think sophistication. Soon you’ll feel like Bond. Perhaps you can woo a suitor by seductively sucking on an olive. Oh wait. No. It’s either an Espresso Martini comprised of Smirnoff and some refrigerated Nescafé, or, worse, it comes on tap. Le Chiffre would have laughed you out of the Casino Royale.

The Blue Drink

Sickly sweet, mysterious, and possibly unfit for human consumption, nobody knows what the Blue Drink contains. Maybe an off-brand energy drink, hopefully some Blue Curaçao, possibly a liberal dash of anti-freeze; who knows? The Blue Drink tastes of everything and nothing. One sip would kill a medieval peasant.

The Improvised Long Island Iced Tea

Even at the Ritz, a Long Island Iced Tea is just a shitload of booze and some Coke. But your local bar doesn’t have Cointreau and their tequila reserves were raided by a Mexican-themed hen party, so they’re substituting triple sec with Absolut and tequila with Grey Goose. Now you’re left with a vodka and Coke that’s four parts vodka, one part Coke.

The Mocktail

It’s just six different fruit juices and an umbrella. And it costs £13.

The Sexy Cheeky One

Following in the footsteps of Sex on the Beach and the Porn Star Martini, your local bar is getting frisky with their own invention: the Dirty Little Harlot. It’s vulgar, it’s sexist, it’s basically just vodka and cranberry juice, and it will lead to the local student population protesting outside until it’s hastily retired.

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Nobody sharing plates wants to

NOT a single person in a restaurant who is sharing plates wants to be doing so, it has been confirmed.

Everyone nibbling away on small communal plates deeply resents their decision and would much rather be tucking into heaps of food piled onto their own designated dish instead.

Disgruntled diner Martin Bishop said: “It only takes one person to suggest getting sharing plates then you all have to go along with it for fear of looking selfish. Even though one plate per person has worked perfectly well for millennia.

“I don’t want a spread of bitesize morsels where I have to fight for every mouthful. I’d be much happier with a mound of nosh I can dig into at my leisure and defend with my fork if anyone dares to try pinching a bit. It’s been the natural human instinct since caveman times.”

Friend Nikki Hollis said: “Tapas is bad enough, but at least you know what you’re letting yourself in for. Sharing plates sound good but ultimately are nothing more than handfuls of chips and nachos served at a jacked-up price. F**k that.

“Plus there’s always one bastard who inhales the samosas before you can get to them, and some other prick who scoffs more than their fair share of chicken wings but will end up paying the same. They should make sharing plates illegal and preferably punishable by death.”