This week’s photo challenge is, simply, red. There is joke in there somewhere that I’m not going to make, even I have standards.
Mention the words “photo” and “red” to any male of a certain age and the famous Farrah Fawcett swimsuit poster comes to mind, driving absolutely everything else out of it. Just showing the poster, however, is not entering into the spirit of the Weekly Photo Challenge, it has to be an actual picture that I took myself, so I’m showing the poster purely in case any of you don’t know which one I’m talking about (and for you, Grandad, as one of my few male readers).
Now I know what you are all thinking, you’re thinking “bloody hell, not only is he a crap photographer, he’s colour blind as well.” Well, yes, I do know that the liquid in the bottle is more brown than red, but not to us Irish.
In all other countries lemonade is a clear whitish liquid. We have that too, but we call it White Lemonade. There is no such drink in Ireland as vodka-and-lemonade, there is vodka-and-white.
Because ask for lemonade here and our default is to the stuff in this bottle, and believe me you don‘t want vodka-and-that.
It’s called Red Lemonade, sold only in our country. It is as uniquely Irish as leprechauns, Riverdance and the kind of whiny song that you can only sing with one hand cupped over one ear.
It’s an extraordinary drink, essentially e-numbers in liquid form. I can’t tell you what it tastes like, because it is so fizzy that with the glass (never a cup) to your mouth all you can taste is that fizz, while tiny bubbles burst gently on your face.
And we all grew up on it, every generation since it was first invented, possibly as something to pour off the parapets of castles onto invaders below. It’s what gives us the ginger in our hair, the freckles on our skin, the redness we call suntan.
It’s part of what we are.