Thursday 16 December 2010

Gordon tenet

Inspiration comes in many forms. An overheard conversation, a few choice words, even a fleeting harmony. 

I was lucky enough to have all three lay themselves at my door this evening and have taken steps already to incorporate that inspiration into some of what I do. Needless to say none of that hippy nonsense will be allowed to encroach upon the calendar. No chance. This is strictly for the purists.

But there's something about being pleasantly surprised that definitely gets the creative juices going. I went to a gig this evening in the hope I'd see someone I was inspired by a couple of months ago. No luck. She wasn't singing with them this evening. Instead, I was treated to something much more memorable. A band so lovely you couldn't pick holes in them if you tried. And as confirmed cynical git, that was difficult to take.

Wasn't expecting it at all and it fair knocked me off my feet. I'm still flying. And that's nothing to do with the few pints of Old Hooky I felt the urge to drink while there either.

So even faced with the enormity of what came out of the calendar yesterday, but was sadly unable to be shared, I feel I can face it full on. With a gaping smile on my face as well.

Regular readers will, of course, be no strangers now to the roller-coaster ways of the calendar, but there's a distinct upward trend I've detected that I hope continues with this beer and on through the next few. Could be the approaching weekend that's helping, of course, but I'd like to think it's more sustained than that.

On verra.

Beer: Gordon Xmas
Country: Belgium, I think, though my eyesight's failing somewhat
Strength: 8.8 sodding %, for Heaven's sake
Colour: Clear conkers brown
Smell: Soaked bread and not much else
Circumstance: Smiling and now at home listening to Low Life by New Order
Tasting notes: Crikey. Like the unexpected great support act, there was no portent of what was to come. Waiting for as dull a taste as I got scent, instead I'm flattened by the malt juggernaut that bowls into my tongue almost as insistently as the number 21 bus tried to guide me off the road this morning. I pull over and stop to remonstrate, only to be greeted by a tirade of sharp, cutting invective practised only by south east London bus drivers keen to keep to a schedule no matter what's in their way. Once unpleasantries are exchanged, all that remains is the sour stench of bitterness and recrimination that lingers longer than a louche layabout lounging lasciviously like a lovelorn lingerer (that's enough with the alliteration - ed.)
Drinkability: There's plenty to keep you interested and the sting in the tail provides just enough impetus to persevere.
Gut reaction: I fear for my poor insides. This is strong, belligerent, unforgiving and gaseous.
Session factor: Somewhere underneath a dachshund's stomach.
Arbitrary score: 6.9

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