|Load of Yank: a fittingly uninspiring style,|
American Pale Ale
That was pretty much the long and the short of it today. Save the Vice magazine Albums of the Year list, practically nothing amused me today. Work was average in that I was neither too busy nor particularly idle. I wasn't told off about anything. Nor was my outstanding contribution showered with praise.
In fact, possibly the best thing I can say about today is that I didn't get knocked off my bike. Truly, it has been the realm of the nondescript this mundane 10 December.
Although saying that, I did some top quality reminiscing about Mr Wu's Chinese restaurant at the bottom end of Leicester Square. For some unfathomable reason, it was an old boss's favourite lunchtime eatery. He was Scottish. Mr Wu's was an 'all-you-can-eat-for-a-fiver' buffet outlet. Make up your own minds. On the rare occasions I went, all I could eat was the 'vegetable suprise' and the egg fried rice. The surprise was finding anyting other than onions in the dish. It did good hangover-mopping stodge, though, and I suspect that was the real reason the old boss used to frequent the gaff.
I could have done with Mr Wu's today. Last night's trip to the Draft House on Charlotte Street - easily my pub of the year, incidentally - was ill-advised at best. A Schnoodlepip on top of that meant this morning was one of December's hazier ones. I still feel slightly queasy now, although that has been offset by the winnings I picked up from my old workplace on the way home.
And in another half an hour or so, I'm heading out again. To drink more beer. Sod what T.S. Eliot thinks, December is the cruellest month without doubt. Still, Sam's scheduled a kind one today, so all is not lost.
Beer: American Pale Ale
Strength: A perfectly reasonable and keyboardly pleasing 5.5%
Smell: A bit like yesterday's beer out of the bottle. And I don't mean the beer I had yesterday. Out of the glass there's a distinct smell of Granny Smith's apple. Or Timotei shampoo, I can't work out which.
Tasting notes: If I didn't know better - if only by the shape of the bottle - I'd almost swear this was St Austell Proper Job. Massively sharp hoppy hit the moment it meets your mouth, but that's where the comparison ends. After that it - I do beg your pardon - pales into insignificance. Rather fitting for today, then. Somewhat weirdly, the finish reminds me of taking bites out of snowballs as a child. Then it all goes a bit Liquorice Allsorts.
Session factor: Pretty high, although I'm not really convinced I fancy another.
Gut reaction: I get the feeling I'll be belching all evening, which isn't what's required, quite frankly.
Actual beer: Kubla Abora. Not bad, nothing to write about.