How to make any pint into a Guinness

A LOOMING Guinness shortage will deprive millions of their favourite tipple, but don’t despair – following these simple tips will turn any pint into a Guinness. 

1: Order a bitter

A pint of mahogany bitter, given its alcoholic content and unpleasant taste, is the ideal base for recreating your precious Guinness. Ideally choose a variety which makes you wince with every sip.

2: Add Marmite

Marmite ticks two boxes for the Guinness-lover: it’s a vile acquired taste which repels ordinary, decent people and it’s extremely dark in colour. Also it’s got yeast involved in its unholy manufacture somewhere. Spoon in around half a jar.

3: Stir in peat

Now you need to enhance your pint’s quintessential stereotypical Irishness so stir in a couple of handfuls of peat moss, available at any garden centre that doesn’t give a f**k about carbon capture. Muttering Irish phrases like ‘Begorrah’ or ‘Grand lad, the Pope’ will add flavour.

4: Tell it about the Black-and-Tans

In a low, conspiratorial whisper inform your nascent Guinness about the auxiliary police force that enforced English law so brutally in the 1920s. Inform it that its own colours were created to mock the Black-and-Tans, which they weren’t but it sounds good.

5: Ritually murder a toucan

The connection between toucans and Guinness is mysterious, mystical and very real. Obtain one – any decent zoo will be glad to get rid, it’s not as if they bring in the punters – and slaughter it on an inverted crucifix while commending its soul to hell. Mix in a few drops of its blood.

6: Top with squirty cream

For the white part on the top, add a whirl of squirty cream from any high street shop, even Spar, and flatten with a ruler. Now it’s starting to look like the good stuff.

7: Top again with white paint

Once the cream has settled, pour in a layer of white emulsion. Dulux’s Clock Face is just the right shade, but any will do. Make sure it floats on the surface for the perfect pint.

8: Sip once and discard

Sip, pull a face as the foul brew spreads across your tastebuds, and push away. After a few minutes claim ‘it isn’t going down right’ and ‘must not have been poured properly’. Order a lager instead.

Lincolnshire, and other parts of the UK no one actually lives in

EVER met anyone from Lincolnshire? Can you even imagine saying ‘Where are you from?’ and the answer being ‘Warwick?’ No. These swathes of Britain are uninhabited: 

Lincolnshire

The second largest ceremonial county in England which also had the highest Brexit vote because four out of its five residents voted leave. Three of them are fishermen, one is a bloke in Grimsby who runs a fish-and-chip shop which tragically has no customers, and the fifth is their girlfriend.

Hereford

After inventing a popular breed of cattle the people of Hereford gave themselves the rest of their lives off and, before they had noticed, died out. Ever since, the county has been a wasteland of bones and drab vegetation. Even the cows have left to find better opportunities and cooler urban lifestyles in Bristol. And nobody has even noticed.

The stretch between Newcastle and Edinburgh

Technically there’s around 200 miles of ground between these two cities. In actuality, there’s nothing at all there. Once you’ve left the Geordies behind, it’s a straight shot until you hear bagpipes and posh English teenagers. Car passengers have reported seeing ‘green… green… maybe some rocks?’

North Wales

The coast maintains a token population like a Potemkin village to convince travellers the rest is occupied, which it isn’t. 20 miles in from any direction is a wasteland full of howling ghosts. The tourists who pour into Snowdonia must never learn that sheep killed all the locals a long, long time ago. They keep one man hostage to operate the cable car.

The Isles of Scilly

The Isle of Wight is second homes for City pricks, the Isle of Man has the tax evaders, Guernsey and Jersey are for those exiled from either Britain or France for terrible, unforgivable crimes. The Scilly Isles, meanwhile, have no-one on them at all, evidenced by the fact there isn’t even a McDonald’s.

Central London

Populated by day by migrants from the commuter belt, once they flee to their outer boroughs central London is deserted. While West End shows are on the streets are empty and silent, with only a windblown bucket of chicken to indicate there were ever humans here. The lighted towers of luxury flats are only beacons of investment.