Growing up in Cornwall means that misspent youth was spent on the beach slurping the cheapest beer you could get your 18-year-old friend to buy for you from Tesco. Beach drinking = sand in your beer, but that’s okay, you know that it just adds to the texture.
Well not okay, but warm beer is better than no beer. Sunny afternoons day drinking on the sand come at a price, and if the price to drink in heaven is warm beer, you’ll take it and not moan.
You can get arrested for that shit, who’d have thought?
…You don’t mean a rum and coke. You’ll have a litre of Captain Morgan’s finest and a bottle of coke to go with it, thanks. You have piracy in your blood after all!
Strongbow? Magners? Gesson! You drink only the finest, strongest Cornish cider you can get your hands on. If you’re unfortunate enough to be up north, you’ll pick the one that is made as far south west as you can find — or just go back to the rum.
Picture this, you’re at a festival with your Cornish flag flying high in the middle of your camp, and your northern neighbours pop by to share a swig of jäger and maybe a game of beer pong. Soon, someone will pipe up and mention sitting down in a circle and playing “I have never.” You and your friends all look at each other with that same look — all right lads and ladies, looks like we’re getting shit-faced. This is because you are fully aware of the fact that there isn’t one thing that your new friends can say that at least one of you hasn’t done.
Apparently getting so drunk you can’t see, isn’t the done thing outside of Cornwall. So when you find yourself out with northern friends from university or new colleagues, you are always dubbed that guy, or “the drunk girl.” But you had a good time — you think.
Day drinking is something of a Cornish institution. There are even days dedicated to breakfast cider and getting home when the sun is coming back up again the next morning. In order to train for these marathon drinking sessions, you must prepare like an athlete in the run up to a triathlon. By the time Helston’s Flora Day and Mazey Day in Penzance roll around in the spring, you are ready to take on the challenge to beat last year’s total for how many pints of Rattler you can get down you in 24 hours. Preferably without vomming on your friend’s feet. Again.
Nobody outside of Cornwall has heard of the Masked Ball or Love Riot. They do not know that your party mantra revolves around getting loose and seeing just how weird it can get. When you and your buddies leave Cornwall, you tend to get kicked out and banned from bars because they just can’t handle the amount of party you like to bring. And when it’s time to party, we will party hard, right? 