I’ve never claimed to be a beer aficionado, beer enthusiast, most certainly. Like most people I’ll buy whatever is on offer but I have some standards; it must be bottled and contain at least 4.3% alcohol. I’ve had too many misspent days lying around wishing I was dead after some truly wretched swill and now that I’m older I fear that the great 6 for €7 bargain I was such an ardent supporter of may actually kill me. Drinking reminds you of how old you’re getting, as you age you learn to appreciate flavours more and desperately try to avoid getting very drunk for fear of the day after. If you don’t understand, you will some day and I’m glad about that, if I must suffer then so should you. Don’t you just hate those people who bound out of bed bright and breezy and tuck into a fry while you’re lying in bed praying that God actually does exist and promising you’ll live a better life if you survive the day. What fickle people we are. Continue reading
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