Matthew Steeples tears apart ‘ES’ magazine’s new restaurant critic for using a ridiculous non-word – “cocktailing”
In this week’s ‘ES’ magazine a prat (pictured with cartoon drawings of a wine glass and some other bizarre object that looks like a bog brush) named Jimi Famurewa – in a column ridiculously called ‘Jimi Eats World’ (he must thus be larger than the RMS Titanic, I can only assume) – reviewed the replacement for the den of iniquity that was The Met Bar.
Remember that place? It had snobby doormen and was the scene of – excuse my use of the vile words “celebrity parties.”
Most couldn’t get in but when you actually did, you just regretted it. A vile red lipstick coloured bar met you and all one found beyond that was something akin to a posh Wetherspoons.
What made this plainly less than talented journalist’s article worse was that – aside from his overuse of such bizarre bracketed “oofs” and “oh, Gods” – is that he decided to use the non-word “cocktailing.” The only reference I could find to such was in that online pillar of genius that is the Urban Dictionary. They define such as:
When you say you’re going out to have some cocktails…but you really plan to get some tail.
(In Laymans terms you say you’re just going to have some drinks at the bar/club/party, but really you intend to hook up.)
Or, if your single, then you say it when you’re planning to go to a bar/club/party, drink alcoholic beverages, and get laid.
Boyfriend: Hey baby, I’m going to John’s party to say Hi and maybe have a quick drink… I’ll be back shortly.
Girlfriend: Wait – I can get ready real quick and come with you!!
Boyfriend: Nah baby, there’s no need for you to get all prettied up, I’ll only be a few minutes…. I swear!
Boyfriend goes to party…
John: So where’s your girlfriend.
Boyfriend: Man, I can’t have her with me when I’m cocktailing… what are you thinkin??
John: Damn straight!
Boyfriend hooks up with hot chic at party and hurries home, girlfriend none the wiser.
IF YOUR SINGLE:
Friend 1: “Hey, lets go out cocktailing tonight!”
Other Friends: “I’m game.”
So, this is what the Evening Standard has reduced itself to: A rag that employs a sub-editor incapable of realising that its no doubt sadly and badly paid journalists rely on dodgy websites and putting pins in thesauruses prior to submitting their works. Standards have slipped; where will it end?