Colin Farrell recently told the Radio Times that his weekly intake was as follows: 20 Es, four grams of coke, six of speed, half-an-ounce of hash, three bottles of Jack Daniels, 12 bottles of red wine, 60 pints and 40 fags a day. Kevin Myers thinks he should "live a little".
The lad's clearly looking after himself.
Es are obviously the E-numbers, which some ill-informed people think are artificial additives. Not so. A lemon, for example, has three E-numbers.
Colin seems to be taking lots of Es, which is reassuring. Lemon juice in hot water just before retiring nice and early is especially good for the skin. Glad to hear the boy's being sensible.
Presumably he's taking the coke as roughage and clearing the system. Carbon, after all, is often used in filters. Still, coke would be pretty hard to get in Los Angeles. No cheery coalman delivering sacks of nutty slack in Belair. Perhaps he has a standing order with Tedcastles, and each Monday the air-mail delivery of prime bituminous-free nuggets from Dublin arrives.
It's great that he has the strong sturdy teeth needed to chew coke, and that he's flushing out his alimentary canal regularly.
Then there's his reference to six of speed. This is one of the perils of copy-taking over the phone. What he was actually saying was that he was sick of speed. This is good news. After all, speed did for his predecessor, James Dean, a man to whom he bears a remarkable resemblance. But he has to get around Los Angeles somehow or other. Perhaps he brought a nice safe car with him, a Morris Minor, say: maximum speed 45 m.p.h., with a tailwind, and going down hill. Or perhaps he has a caravan on the set, with a little stove in it, and he makes pots of tea and entertains his guests with Kimberly and Mikado biscuits sent from home. Mammy, the crack does be ninety! I have to confess to worrying about his consumption of half-an-ounce of hash a week. Maybe American measurements are different from ours. Their gallon, after all, is smaller than ours. Perhaps their ounces are the equivalent to our pounds - yet even then, half a pound of hash a week isn't very much for a lad of his age. He must mean half a pound a day.
Constance Spry insisted on milk in her corned beef hash, but not, funnily enough, in her mutton hash with stuffed tomatoes. This latter dish includes pork meat as well - just what a young fellow like Colin needs. Mrs Beeton, on the other hand, swore by turkey hash for Christmas leftovers. I can see Colin sitting there all alone in his caravan on Stephen's Day, his paper hat on his head, forlornly thinking of home as he puts together the turkey hash. Let your hair down, Colin. Mrs Beeton allowed three tablespoons of port in her recipe - and why not? After all, it is Christmas.
Colin also admitted to three bottles of Jack Daniels a week. Ah, the same old apostrophe story again: never when you need it, always there when you don't. Jack Daniels presumably is the brother of Paul Daniels, the famous magician. No doubt Paul wished to see the back of Jack because of his budding magical talents, and having turned all impresarios who were interested in the brother into rabbits, he set Jack up as a producer of health drinks in California. Jack Daniel's Tonic Cordial: for female complaints, distemper, asthma, dandruff, eczema, and constipation.
Colin: are you getting obsessed with your bowel movements? Buck up, my boy! Though I have to say, three bottles a week of cordial a week is probably fine, just as long as you keep clear of the hard stuff. And when you're feeling a bit down, you can always tuck into some of that Constance Spry corned beef hash you were telling us about.
You're drinking 12 bottles of wine a week, you say. Twelve seems rather a lot. I'm sure that they're the tiny bottles you get in airliners - but sometimes Colin, these can be as much as one third of an ordinary bottle. Colin, that's the equivalent of drinking four full bottles of wine a week. Ha, ha, ha. You can't mean that, a healthy fellow like you. Another error in transmission: you meant 12 baby bottles every month.
And you say you're drinking 60 pints a week. Good man. That's eight-and-a-half pints a day. Do you buy it bottled out there, or does a consignment of Tipperary or Ballygowan arrive with the coke every week? You certainly need the water in that heat, Colin. Flushes you and keeps you regular, along with the coke. I bet you long for Mondays! As for the 40 fags a day, another error in transmission: these dratted copy-takers! You mean, of course, figs. Colin, do you think you're getting a little obsessed with regularity? I'm glad you're looking after yourself in that department, but you can always have too much of a good thing.
You see, Colin - and this is intended to be kindly advice - this obsession with your bowels will get you nowhere with women. I can see you sitting there in your caravan, all alone, mooning over your coke-scuttle and your figs and your tonic cordial, needlessly worrying about your bottom, and it makes me sad, Colin, sad. A few words from an older man, my boy. Just for once, get out a little and live a little.