All Mixed Up: Our Correspondent Visits Dipsy's Mixey Rabbit Cocktail Bar In Chattingham

My editor has been nagging me to actually write something about Midway’s cocktail bars (Huh! Typical man!) ever since the MORON had gone to the trouble of hyping up my “All Mixed Up” column a few weeks ago.  

So I got together with my bestest mates Chantelle and Chardonnay and twisted my boyfriend’s reluctant arm (typical man!) to drop us off at Dipsy’s Mixey Rabbit, a little-known and rather bizarre Teletubbies-themed venue in the heart of the buzzing Friday night scene of Chattingham’s Grott Street.

Stock photo of cocktail bar...

My mission was to review not only the cocktails on offer, but also to examine the entire “Dipsy’s Mixey Rabbit experience” from a female perspective. All too often, cocktail bars seem designed solely for a male gaze, the drinks boasting boozy gravitas over nuanced flavour, the atmosphere prioritising loud machismo over comfortable conversation. I was here to see if Dipsy’s Mixey Rabbit broke the mold, offering a space where a woman, whether on a solo adventure or a night out with friends, could feel both seen and appreciated, not just another pretty face ordering a sugary concoction.

That’s just a load of AI-generated bollocks, of course.

Photo of some cocktails...

I was actually just out on a company-sponsored lash with a couple of girly mates, but hey, whatever…

The drinks menu offered a weird and wonderful selection of extremely expensive drinks. We started with a round of Badenoch’s Blusterers, a concoction consisting of rye, maple syrup, Peychaud’s bitters (any ideas?) and ambergris (me neither). They tasted of fish and were rather unpleasant, but as the drinks were very large and very free (a chum of the editor’s owns the joint and was happy to subsidise our alcoholic adventures given the guarantee of a good review) we weren’t complaining.

Next up was a round of Jenrick’s Palmgreasers, an extremely rich, extremely strange and very alcoholic mix of tequila, dark rum, chorizo, vegetable juice, port, pepper and cider vinegar, all liquidised together and topped off with a strip of jerk chicken. It certainly saved us ordering anything from the range of available bar food, but once we’d finished the drinks we weren’t really in the mood to eat anything anyway.

By now, the dance floor was packed with people. We got caught up in the energy, swaying to the music and even attempted a few questionable dance moves. My mate Chantelle even made a new friend, a hunky-looking guy named Ben who was surprisingly good at air guitar.

After a while my heels were starting to hurt, but my laughter was only getting louder. Chantelle was having a good time with her new friend Ben, so me and Chardonnay ordered a couple of Truss’s Tapeworms, an utterly psychedelic blend of vodka, gin, tabasco, pepper and absinthe, with a squirt of mayonnaise that looked like (you’ve guessed it) a tapeworm floating in an alcoholic miasma - and garnished with a lettuce, complete with googly eyes...

I think the mayonnaise must have had a maudlin effect on poor Chardonnay, who began getting tearful about her beau of three years, Steve, forgetting her birthday last week. 

Huh! Typical man!

Another photo of some cocktails...

By now, Chantelle had disappeared with her new friend, so I was left to console the increasingly lachrymose Chardonnay with a round of Mexican-sounding Los Cojones Del Tipo Duro De Boris’s. What the name means I don’t know but they were the most expensive drinks on the list, consisting of (so the menu said) white rum, tequila, mint leaves, soda, lime juice, chocolate and liquidised bull’s testicles.

Things became a little indistinct after that. I vaguely remember Chantelle’s boyfriend turning up to collect her and getting quite emotional when we told him she’d gone off with someone else. 

Huh! Typical man!

The next thing I knew, I was back in my own flat and it was ten in the morning. My rather grumpy partner said that Chardonnay had not been too well on the journey home, with the chocolate from her last drink making a spectacular reappearance in his car.

"...show me the way to go 'ome..."

Thank God for the leather seats.

I also couldn’t work out why I was wearing my boyfriend’s pyjamas. Later, when the room had stopped spinning around, he explained that I also had suffered a biological disorder on the journey home, with last night’s outfit being consigned to a bin-bag after he had hosed me down in the shower, dried me off and put me to bed.

Huh! Typical man!

Now, back at our flat, I'm still feeling a little bit tipsy, but mostly just content. That was a perfect night to let loose, laugh, and just be with my friends. I think I might even need a 'recovery weekend', but it was worth it.

So here’s how I rate Dipsy’s Mixey Rabbit:

Décor: Can’t remember much about it. Probably OK. ****

Drinks: Difficult to say, to be honest. They must have been pretty good as I can’t remember a thing about them. They certainly opened the sluices at both ends, according to my boyfriend (Huh! Typical man!). Good job their menu is on the Internet so I was able to look up the drinks I had. *****

Price: Ludicrously expensive, like all swanky cocktails. Thank God we were on freebies all night courtesy of the MORON!*****

Staff: Friendly, attentive and happy to banter, even when we got totally pissed *****

Best for: Picking up fellas (so says my mate Chantelle!) and getting paralytic***** 

Interestingly, the real-world new column seems to have generated virtually no interest comment-wise, and its title had been dropped from the “What’s On” menu. I foresee this rather bland (and largely AI-composed?) feature being somewhat short-lived.

What was a lot more interesting was seeing an ad for an event fronted by the ultra-right-wing thicko’s favourite smart person, Dr. Jordon Peterson, popping up in this self-proclaimed “female perspective” piece. I see it got taken down pretty quickly.

Flogging Dr. Peterson’s weirdo brand of misogyny and right-wing rich-person’s free speech principles (i.e. ‘criticise me and I’ll sue…’) seems a rather extreme choice of advert, but then I guess the algorithm that chooses these things has simply identified its host as appealing to well-off REFORM-voting pensioners and advertises accordingly.

Which seems pretty accurate to me...

 

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