BRITAIN has vowed to beat any alcohol price hike by distilling its own booze from junk food leftovers.
Experts insist a minimum price per unit is the only way to reduce Britain’s alcohol consumption, while other experts claimed the first lot of experts may not have spent very much time with actual people from Britain.
As the National Institute for Clinical Excellence became the latest organisation to pull down its fly and urinate purposefully into the warm summer breeze, people across the county said they were excited by the prospect of making dangerous booze from the top two inches of whatever happens to be in their bin.
Tom Logan, an enthusiastic amateur from Stevenage, said: “I really want to be able to make a premium strength vodka from all the fat-drenched carbohydrate I couldn’t quite manage to squeeze into my greedy, irresponsible face.
“It’ll be like Scrapheap Challenge, but for getting utterly fucking hammered.”
Peterborough-based inventor, Julian Cook, said: “I take a large mixing bowl, fill it with used bath water and throw in half a bag of sugar, half a bag of pearl barley, a squeeze of Mr Muscle and the zest of a medium-sized lime.
“Then I stick it behind the fridge for 72 hours, periodically lifting off the scum with a fish slice. I call it Alkazar’s Magic Whisky.”
He added: “I have to say, the idea that some bespectacled bureaucrat typing away in his little cubicle is going to try and stop me from hitting it like a bastard is actually rather sweet.”
Margaret Gerving, a retired headmistress from Guildford, said: “I always taught my pupils the value of observing other cultures, so I am going to spend this summer in Ireland, travelling from village to village and learning the art of distilling alcohol from left over bomb-making equipment.”
And Bill McKay, a crazy dreamer from York, added: “I’d love to have a go at that stuff they brew up in rural India that leaves everyone in the village completely blind.
“I could claim incapacity benefit and spend all the money on rum. I’d be sitting there in my badly neglected underpants, blind as a bat, swigging a bottle of Captain Morgan’s and composing unimaginably dirty songs about fat, greasy prostitutes.
“Then again, I’m not sure I’d want a career.”
