High price for a drink

BACK in the 1800s when a politician wanted your votes he would invite you to the tavern and get you totally bladdered.

It was all above board and a practice known as quilling, as I learned this week when the arcane word got into the Oxford English Dictionary for the first time.

At one quilling session in 1853, 60 voters downed 246 glasses of grog bought for them by the parliamentary candidate.

But the practice often led to violence and debauchery and was eventually banned under electoral law.

I wonder who’ll be getting them in on July 4, though, when ministers visit their locals for a “starburst” of photo ops to welcome punters back. Perhaps it will be Jacob Rees-mogg? He says we should all down a yard of ale to “maintain social distancing while enjoying an extra large drink to celebrate.”

Chancellor Rishi Sunak might have half a shandy down the Dog and Duck or stand the Health Secretary a Bloody Mary.

But Boris is bound to raise a foamy pint somewhere and say Bottoms Up to Super Saturday. While praying he’s not “doing a Gummer”.

In 1990, Environment Secretary John Gummer publicly fed his four-year-old daughter a beefburger to allay fears over

GOOP guru Gwyneth Paltrow has been waxing lyrical about her new scented candle.

It’s called This Smells Like My Orgasm, the obvious (?) successor to last year’s red hot hit, This Smells Like My Vagina.

And what is this orgasmic aroma, you ask? “Tart grapefruit, neroli and ripe cassis berries, blended with gunpowder tea and Turkish rose absolutes.” Come again? mad cow disease – six years before the BSE crisis exploded.

But the Prime Minister’s populist pub opening gamble will backfire far more quickly. Because he is banking on “good British common sense”.

The common sense displayed by hundreds of thousands of people packing the beach at Bournemouth this week.

The common sense shown by hordes of drunks peeing and pooing in people’s gardens after my local pub opened for takeaways.

The common sense shown by youngsters flocking to illegal raves and parties who think they’re immune.

Which is why Super Saturday is already being renamed Barmaggedon – by cops who fear widespread drunken disorder and by NHS staff who can see that second spike on the horizon. John Apter, Chairman of the Police Federation of England and Wales warns: “I am concerned we have a pressure cooker building up – a perfect storm. This could be just the beginning.”

Of course the Government has to kickstart the economy and protect livelihoods, but Super Saturday could a prove a kick in the teeth. Quilling may be a thing of the past, and Boris can’t buy our votes with free grog. Yet he’s urging the whole nation to get down the boozer when this deadly virus is still around.

And we are all going to pay the price.

Gwyneth devotees with more money than scents can’t wait to get their hands on the pricey feminist candles, though.

And some want Gwynnie to bring out a male version.

Really? How many blokes would blow £75 on a candle when research shows most only buy new pants every five years? This Smells Like My Crusty Boxers doesn’t sound like a winner.