I lived off Buckfast for a weekend

So, I decided to spend the weekend with Buckfast. But not just drinking it, adding it to my cooking, taking it in my tea. It replaced coffee in the morning, I fed it to my plants. Buckfast reigned supreme.

A bottle of the red nectar has the same caffeine content as eight cans worth of cola, which explains the violently shaking hands.

Living with Buckfast was an interesting experience, I’ve never seen a drink with such versatility.

Just a dash

Over the course of the weekend I made meals using Buckfast, got emotional with some Bucky enthusiasts, and even held a Buckfast tasting with my friends.

When purchasing my weekends supply I made sure I had a range of bottles, as each bottle has a different number from 1-40 on the bottom. The lower numbers are supposedly better, yet harder to drink.

A 5 was the lowest I could get, and a 28 the highest for comparison. But I did meet a friend who gave me a sip of his number 1 – all  in the name of research of course.

When I got home I was advised by my flatmate to elbow the bottom of my bottle – some say that it entwines all the sediment, giving the drink an overall better flavour, while others suggest it is done to provide shards of glass in the bottle to cut your throat and let the drink hit you harder. Either way it was tradition, and I did it.

Next thing I knew I was drinking a pint of the stuff, the thick, sweet red drink got me very, very drunk.

Inspired, I poured half a bottle into a chicken chow mein while cooking it. This was probably one of the most incredible decisions ever made.

Buckfast is a cooking wine, the sweet syrupy drink gives any meal an incredible kick.

The meal was delicious, a success with my flatmates. What’s more, everyone was smashed.

The trouble with buckfast is that one bottle is no where near enough, but two bottles is too much, at the time I was on one and a half.

As we left for the flat party a quick tactical chunder was had. The stuff was so red the toilet is still stained.

Ramsay would be proud

At the party were several Buckfast enthusiasts. Joe, who necked it straight from the bottle. Oscar, who swilled the drink whilst DJing. And Jacob, the lucky wee so and so who got the number one bottle.

At one point Joe discovered a hammer on top of the fridge, disastrous. He then proceeded to grab the nearest object from the fruitbowl, a pineapple which he smashed to bits on the floor. Oscar then arrived, slipped on the pineapple residue and fell into me – initiating a very sticky and pineapple filled wrestling match.

I can’t really remember much of that party, flashbacks of Joe taking on a pineapple with a hammer, or Oscar declaring “Taps Aff” in the music room are fleeting.

Buckfast is the drink of the gods. The trouble is, I’ve run out.

Jacob shares his number one, which is phenomenal. The caffeine reinvigorates and the booze gets you drunk. At this point I’m dancing on the floor surrounded by freaks, all chanting to the music. That’s the last memory.

The next morning an empty bottle of Buckfast is lying on the floor prophetically.

Today would be another chapter in the Buckfast chronicles.

It started with a glass of bucky to accompany my lunch, instead of my regular cup of coffee. By mid afternoon I’m feeling light headed. Reading the label on the bottle, I laugh. It says: “The name ‘Tonic Wine’ does not imply health giving or medicinal properties.”

Later on I’m slumped on the floor feeling sorry for myself. But when my friends come over things start to pick up and all is good again. We all share a drink, taking a glass from each number of bottle to see if there is much difference, which there is.

Then comes the night out. We head to La Cheetah until 4am, so the caffeine came in handy. One of the Dj’s is drinking a red liquid behind the decks and I lean over to knock fists with him.

The night was incredible, but the lack of Buckfast behind the bar was a bit of a disappointment.

I can safely say I wont be touching Bucky for a long time now. I’m now sick of the sight of the drink which earned the nickname “Wreck the Hoose Juice”.

It was an interesting experience. But next time I’m sticking with beer.