Warm Beer?

Lately I have taken to drinking beer warm. Body temperature warm.

Not by choice, but just because that’s the only way I can manage to consume an entire can. It’s kinda for the same reason that I can’t seem to drink a cup of coffee while it’s still hot and not starting to resemble cooling tarmac… because I can’t seem to get to either of them in time.

I have taken on a new project which is to sew handbags and cushions for a funky new homewares store that is due to open at the end of November. I’m really exited about it because it’s a huge oppertunity for me. And it sounds so perfect doesn’t it? Being creative, working from home where I can tend to my delightful family, keep house, and generally be domestically goddess-like…

uh, right…

this is what my house looks like at the moment:

the living room looks like an illegal sweat-shop – except there are more breaches of OH&S, on top of the carpet there is another carpet made entirely of cotton threads, the bathroom is so fluffy it has now become an intricately woven mohair jumper, something smells like it has died in my kitchen (it probably has), Felix’s sheets actually stripped themselves and hopped into the washing machine in disgust and there appears to be a small family of badgers living in the pile of clothes next to my bed…

Also at this time when everything dangerous in the house has to be out at once – ie scissors, needles, pins, sewing machine, prozac – Felix has decided to wholly become his alter ego: Accident Man.

So, in between sewing my creations and attempting to keep everyone from coming down with scurvy, I find I am also losing a little bit more of my sanity every time I hear a crash and the inevitable pain-scream.

I have started just scooping Accident Man up and automatically putting a towel over my shoulder because inevitably there is blood and I’m sick of having a permanent shoulder pad made of blood, tears and booger.

After the screaming has died down and I have restored some semblance of order to the house, this is about when i realise I had made myself a coffee 2 hours ago. And, now, this is truly indicative of how my standards have plummetted since beoming a parent, I just think – Oh! A coffee! It’s stone cold, but at least i don’t have to make one now!

And I drink it.


And I don’t care.

So, it’s the same with my beloved beer. When once i would have turned up my nose at anything less than freezing in temperature, now my first thought is – I KNEW I’d left a beer around here somewhere – WOO-HOO!!!

Just between you and me, I’ve been scouting about the place this morning – looking beneath the cotton thread carpet, in between the illegal sweat-shop workers and the family of badgers – just in case I did leave a half drunk beer somewhere around… coz I could really go a beer now.

Even if it is warm and starting to ferment into something else…

Drinking and Writing: Achieving the Impossible

Oh wow I am the worst blogger in the world! So many months so little time! I think this basically proves one thing though – I am a MUCH better drinker than I am writer!

So basically I have spent the entirety of the last 3 months drunk and have totally lost track of time. I’m sorry. Forgive me. See – you teach a toddler to fetch beer from the fridge and it works a little TOO well!

I’ve mainly been drinking my dear old Cascade Draught, occasionally a pint of the black stuff (you can’t drink a pint of Bovril!), a pint of Pale Ale, a pint of Moo Brew (thankyou Dave you are a sweetheart!) … the common factor here seems to be the overuse of the word PINT.

Now I have had an issue in the past with the pint – it’s too big, gets too warm and is too hard to hold. But I’ve found that when I’m out with people who are drinking pints that drinking a pot is silly. You can’t go in a shout. You need tweenies. And you feel like a total twat-head.

So the morals of this story are:

a) Don’t start a beer blog if you actually intend to drink beer for 12 hours out of every 24

b) You must drink out of the biggest vessel made available to you at all times


c) I should not be allowed to drink without a minder

(that’s more of a mental note to self thing, but maybe one of you might care to remind me of it before the inevitable truckload of trouble finds me next time I am drinking in public)