"An insulated plastic cool box"
Do you people have to suck the poetry out of everything? Your world may be a bleak monotone of "insulated plastic cool boxes" but ours is a wondrous, richly textured, spiritually enriching, one - resplendent in "Eskis" and, in the quirky off-beat way of our cousins across The Ditch, "Chilly Bins".
Maybe, in the grey, grey, gloom of midsummer, with the nostalgic stupor of the French, the passionless precision of the Swiss and the Teutonic "Vorsprung durch Technik" just a one-armed dog paddle and a quick jog away, your heart is an insulated plastic cool box within which lies the sogged leftover meat paste sandwiches of regret, but down here, where even the deepest winter is a glory of sunshine and blue skies from horizon to horizon, our Eskis are packed solid with frosty bottles of home-brewed opportunity. Slightly hoppy with an afternote of malt and new hope. Have one. Theres plenty to go around.
It just so happens that some people hope for the opportunity to fiddle with themselves while cracking the ton with a bootload of weed and a camcorder. That is their way and we must respect that as we would expect them to respect OUR way.
In any case, lay off the Eski.