I went to the recesses of the basement and there amid the cobweb festooned
experimental jars of pickled gooseberries and marinated radish leaves were two
dusty bottles of a batch of homebrew from many moons ago. It turned out to be
the Black and Evil bew, so called because I negleted the malt and it darkened
into a sort of ... eh ... charcoal. But the beer was excellent, five years
ago. Beer doesn't age well like wine and it was still OK, but just OK, but
plenty good enough to inspire a snort of distain in the direction of the beer
companies or the universe, whichever, little odds.
So here on this day of the full moon I have taken vows in the order of St.
Arnold, the vows of poverty .... eh .... fermentation ... ah ... and indulgence.
Yeah, that's the ticket!
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