Baggage mishandling

Reverse mokko: expecting it to be bad,
it turns out good

It's good to know no matter how sensible you think you've become in your old age, something will happen that reminds you just how much of a clown you can still be. 

So last night, in my haste to get back and update the calendar, I left my bag behind. The truly annoying thing is, I don't remember where. It might have been in the pub. It could have been on the train home. But leave it I did as there is absolutely no sign of it this morning.

The thing is, I wasn't particularly drunk last night, if at all. I'd left at a decent hour and was back home in time to cook dinner, drink the calendar beer, update the blog and still be in bed long before midnight. So the only explanation is that I quite simply forgot to take it with me when I upped and left. Either the pub or the train; I don't recall.

Irritatingly, the pub I was in is closed on Saturdays and Sundays, so I can't check with them. And I daren't even begin the painful process of dealing with Southern Rail's lost property office as the last time I did this (yes, it's happened before), it was such a Kafkaesque nightmare I lost interest in the really rather nice leather bag I'd mislaid.

Fortunately, this bag doesn't contain anything particularly valuable. In fact it only has in it a large tupperware box that had housed my lunch earlier in the day. But annoyingly, it's the only bag I possess suitable for carrying around a computer, which means I can't take this laptop to the Social as planned to live blog today's beer from that excellent venue's annual Christmas market.

Instead, I'm sitting at home feeling a bit daft and contemplating this bottle of milk stout that I hadn't planned on drinking till at least a few hours later. Now I have to have it before I leave the flat. Oh, never mind, eh? I can think of worse ways of passing a Saturday afternoon.

Beer: Summer Wine Brewing Mokko Milk Stout
Strength: A slippery 6%
Smell: Like a 100-year-old snug that's been used to store apples for the duration.
Tasting notes: It pours like Coca-Cola and, for a fleeting instant, I almost believe that's what I'm drinking. But the belly borborygmus burbles otherwise. It is rather sweet, though, and I swear the delicious, thick, treacly malt is providing a much-needed boost to the blood sugar levels. I involuntarily let out a quiet belch of appreciation. This is really pleasing. Having eaten heartily at lunchtime, this beer is acting as a dessert - sickly sweet at first but with just enough hoppy bitterness to make you imagine you're chowing down on a rich chocolate tart. I can't stand milk; I properly gag if I try to drink it. But this really is delicious.
Session factor: Not particularly high, but that's probably no bad thing.
Arbitrary score: 215,213