I never drink… wine

Sorry, I just had to use that classic quote.

Just a short one today. Ever wondered why the majority of movie vampires have such a restricted diet? But why some do eat? I’m thinking wonderful things like deep-fried onion ‘flowers’… (Name That Fictional Vampire!)

I probably should have mentioned this just after Christmas, when everybody’s motto is  “Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we diet.”

So…

Food.

I know I have briefly talked about this before. But looking back, I realised that I never explained it properly. Well, guess what – today is your (un)lucky day.
I have talked about allergies and sensitivity to certain foods. I have not gone into detail about their effects on my vampire metabolism. Nor will I. Some things you just don’t talk about. Nor would you want me to talk about them.

It’s really quite straightforward.

But first, I’ll go off on one of my infamous tangents. Well, I say infamous…  the truth is nobody cares. Like when some brand/store/restaurant claims that something of theirs is world famous, you can be pretty sure that it’s probably not.

So, here’s my tangent. Mostly to try to key into your human sensibilities by sharing an incident that actually happened to a human. A rather cool human, to be honest. One of the few friends I had growing up. But that’s a tangent on a tangent.

Anyway!

This friend… let’s called her Persephone. Mostly because I wanted the excuse to use that name somewhere. Persephone was not a ‘look-before-you-leap’ kind of human. She was always an ‘Ask-questions-after’ kind of person.

One day, Persephone was thirsty and wandered into her kitchen and saw a nice glass of lemonade sat there. Thinking it had been left sitting there by one of her flatmates, she glugged it back, making a note to replace it later. She also ended up needing to replace her lunch, and the kitchen mat.

It wasn’t lemonade.

It was cooking oil.

Her flatmate was baking and couldn’t find the measuring cup for the oil so had used a glass instead.
And if that wasn’t enough to make her check first, a mere few days later, she pulled out a chunk of cheese from the fridge and dived into it. She carved herself a big chunk and scarfed it down. Only it wasn’t cheese. It was butter.

As you can imagine, it put her off oil and butter. She dry-fried her food for the rest of her life. Her relationship with lemonade and cheddar was also touch-and-go for a long time. Now imagine if you actually were allergic. Imagine how put off you would then be if you tried a food and it made you feel ridiculously ill. Even seeing it would set you off.

Makes you wonder what must’ve happened with the garlic, doesn’t it? It’s a classic thing that vampires are utterly revolted and repelled by the stuff. Think about it. That’s got to be the most traumatic garlic bread ever.

And so that’s why you see so many vampires that just stick to good old blood. It’s just easier. Beats all the hassle of –

But I said I wouldn’t talk about that.

And the ones you see eating? We’re the ones that got past the knee jerk reactions and worked out what we could eat.

Simple, really.

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Ding-dong-merrily-on-huh

And here we are, the first weekend of December. Everyone is getting ready for Christmas. Yes, including me. At least this year, nobody has asked me whether or not I celebrate Christmas. Of course I do! If nobody sees me braving the heaving consumerist hordes, it’s because I finished my Christmas shopping last month. Six months either side of Christmas and this town is crazy.

I did venture into town today though. Needs must. And I got the fright of my life while I was there.

I was walking through the shopping centre and I saw two raggedy groups of creatures at either end of the concourse, shambling mindlessly along. Suddenly a spark of recognition ignites on either side and they begin approaching each other intently, their feet shuffling, hideous mewling noises issuing from their stained mouths.

Others watch in horror as they edge closer and ever closer. The squealing meander seems to go on forever. They begin to raise their arms, reaching out as the others approach. Suddenly, the wailing rises to a high-pitched screeching as heavy-laden arms flail arhythmically and they all lump into one squealing tangle.

As it turned out, it wasn’t the Zombie Apocalypse after all. It was just a group of teenage girls greeting each other. Crisis averted. But it pays to be alert.

And that’s why I don’t go out much.

When I got back home, I seriously needed a drink. No, not wine, or anything like that. I don’t touch the stuff. Trust me, people who know me in real life say it’s probably best that I don’t drink. I’m not quite sure whether that’s an insult, a compliment, or just a very astute observation… So, to coin a phrase, “I never drink… wine.” Then again, I never drink tea or coffee either, but it just wouldn’t have the same punch to it. I bet you’re trying the phrase out in your head right now, aren’t you? And does it work? I’ll bet it doesn’t.

Obviously, actual blood is off the menu, but I do need an adequate substitute in order to restore the old energy quickly (yes, I do eat ‘proper food’, but sometimes an avocado salad just doesn’t hit the spot, know what I mean?)

So what are the choices? There’s that time, isn’t there, when you’re a child and you play dress-up as vampires (although I since found out that most little girls tend to dress up as princesses. Oops). Anyway, you dress up with your best frills and trills and use your mum’s best pillowcase for a cape and all you can find to drink is a certain blackcurrant squash as your ‘blood’ (Except I only ever had it as a holiday treat). And then, when you grow up a bit more, you get more creative and have tomato juice (yeeuch). And then, when you’re an actual adult, you’re allowed to pop Worcestershire sauce and a tot of vodka in (is that correct? Is that how you make a bloody Mary?). I hate tomato juice. *Shudder*. Don’t get me wrong, it’s wonderful stuff, and all that lycopene is very handy for lessening the horrible burning effects of sunlight, but…

Anyway, I do have a delightful little pick-me-up. It’s one of my little secrets that I’ll let you in on. I call it my A+ juice (get it?!). You juice 1 beetroot, 3 or 4 chunks of broccoli, 5 or 6 curly kale leaves, ¼ of a pomegranate, 2 apples, ½ a lemon and a couple of sprigs of mint. It’s ‘bloody’ good, if you’ll pardon the pun/expression! Tastes wonderful and earthy, with a smack in the chops of pure sweetness. Seriously, try it.  Everything is in there for a reason. Look it up and you’ll find out why…. I’m now going to ‘juice up’ to get myself ready for the next phase…. Wrapping presents… Oh joy (to the world).

Happy Googling!

 

 


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Genetics Schmenetics!

Before I start my tangent-ridden ramble, I thought I better put your mind at rest.  There’s that one question, isn’t there? The one you want to ask. The fangéd elephant in the room…

Can someone be turned into a vampire?

Actually, the real question is, if we were to meet, would I bite you? You just didn’t want to upset me by being that direct..? Well, we’re back to genetics again. It’s like anything, I suppose. It can live dormant in your cells and you may never ever know you are a carrier. Until of course, the right bite comes along. I guess in that respect, it’s a bit like a cold sore. A cold sore with benefits.

And, while we are at it, let’s get a few more stereotypes binned. No, I do not waft around brooding mysteriously. I am not lovesick for some mortal. In fact I am happily married, thank you very much.

I do not drink blood. I mean, imagine that: every meal, every day – yuck? Dull. In fact I can’t even eat red meats, or any meat -or any milk, even. I used to when I was a child, but then it started getting weird. I went from liking steak as a burnt offering (which was just as well, as my mum used to use the smoke alarm as a timer to tell her when dinner was done), to gradually preferring medium steak and then getting progressively rarer, until one day I found myself eating it raw. And craving it. That’s when I realised I had a problem and I stopped. It was making me ill.

No surf and turf for this baby.

So… no brooding, no blood, no real sparkling, no spontaneous combustion, no wafting around in gloriously Gothic garments while listening to Lacuna Coil. Okay… perhaps I’ll admit to that last one. But then, I am equally likely to be found listening to Imagine Dragons or AC/DC. I’m eclectic.

Oh, and of course, I don’t rip anybody’s throat out. But that doesn’t mean I’m not tempted to, on occasion. Let’s face it, who isn’t?!  That temptation is not unique to vampires! Generally, if anyone gets annoyed with me, I like to say ‘why don’t you bite my head off? It will make jumping down my throat so much easier.’

Garlic. Love it. It’s just the papery stuff on the outside that I can’t stand. Smells all dusty and shroudy plus it hurts like a bad ‘un if you get it stuck under your nails when you’re cleaning it. And I prefer to keep my nails short. I can’t stand long nails. Oh, we’re back to the talons again. But these beautiful girls you see with those long nails (Banksy should hire those nails out by the yard)…. How do they live? How do they wipe their bums? I guess they can toast marshmallows well. Unless of course that shellac stuff is flammable…

People’s views of my eating habits are wide and varied. My carnivore friends think I’m a vegetarian. My vegetarian friends think I am a vegan. My vegan friends think I am a raw vegan. I have never asked my raw vegan friends what they think I eat. I’m running out of links on the food chain.

I remember, one day, my mum catching me down in the cellar, licking my broken umbrella. It tasted deliciously metallic. The same day she had decided I was old enough to have my first cup of tea. That was a thing in my family. It was some kind of right-of-passage thing. Anyway. I was presented with this steamy cup of milky oblivion (milk? Really, Mother!) and was expected to drink it on front of this baited-breathed audience. The Roman Coliseum had nothing on this.

So I took a mouthful. Hmph. Not impressed. It had a metallic tang, but nothing as satisfying as my umbrella handle.

And that’s when I said it.

“I’d rather drink blood. “

Needless to say, I was never made to drink the stuff again. And my little TMI moment was never mentioned again. It was a relief, to be honest. At least they never sat me down as a self-conscious teen and gave me the “Have you tried not being a vampire?” routine.

I know my parents did blame themselves when they finally realised I wasn’t like my brothers and sisters. Still, I guess they have their own demons to deal with. Mine just happens to be me – if you listen to all the occult ‘experts’ and people who’ve watched way too many movies on Netflix.

But luckily for me, no one has staked me through the heart. Although you’d be surprised at just how many things that will kill. And no, I’m not counting that unfortunate time when I went to the Ideal Home Exhibition and got a cocktail stick stuck in my foot while wondering through the aperitifs bar. That was painful and, far worse: it was downright embarrassing. Imagine being slain by Buffet the Vampire Slayer… Oh! The shame! I still can’t look at mini sausages without wincing.

I didn’t answer your question, did I? The one about biting you?  Oh well…

 


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