The sun is shining (again) so I’m clearing out the garage (still).
Mrs RM has ordered a skip for Tuesday, which prompted one of our rare but ridiculous arguments before I remember I should just do what I’m told.
An hour later she popped out to Milton Brewery, theoretically just across the field from our house but a wholly inessential 1.3 miles in the car.
Bless her cotton socks, she filled up the campervan water bottle with a gallon (8 pints, metric fans) of Nike, the ruby one. My first beer for six weeks.
I’m reluctantly going to accept she couldn’t have lugged a gallon of beer across the field, even though I’ve seen folk do it in Harare.
Cool, rich, bursting with flavour, it was as good as the ale in their legendary “Pour your own beer at the brewery” night.
Reader, we drank six pints in an hour, NBSS 4.5. That is why DRINKING AT HOME IS A MORTAL SIN. Mrs RM is completely unable to provide a regulated drinking environment, which is what you get in Proper Pubs like the Vaults in Uttoxeter.
Anyway, Mrs RM may well send me out later with a couple of milk bottles for some of the 7.5% Marcus Aurelius that one pub wouldn’t let her have a pint of.
Who needs pubs ?*