my notebook

Great news. I didn't leave my notebook on the train. Not the notebook. I did have a train loss, but I won't discuss that here. It's too painful. Perhaps next year when the wounds have healed.

It's packed with fascinating details I just have to share with you. (My notebook, in case you were confused. I know I am. ) Here it is:



"Quite lightly smoked", "Like Beecham's Powders", "Infected" That's all I can make out. Not that there's much more.

Beer affects the memory in mysterious ways. I was convinced that I had compiled extensive notes. Despite the taxi ride to Roosendaal not having left a single trace in my mind. You could call me an optimist.

Here's a joke from Alexei.

"Knock , knock."
"Who's there."
"Chocolate."
"Chocolate who?"
"Orange juice."

And another:

"Breaking news. . . . I've broken my nail."



I'm looking forward to christmas. Two days without work.

Treasure that. It's the only reference I'm ever going to make to my job.

Talking of treasure, Wildeman is a real treasure. They've had cask Fuller's Vintage Ale for more than a week. (I know, I know - a cask shouldn't last that long. But believe me, there wasn't the slightest whiff of vinegar.) Dark Star Espresso Stout confused me. But conquered me. I had a second. That was cask, too. The best coffee Stout I've had. But I'm still not convinced by the concept. Stout already has lots of roast flavours. Coffee just adds more of the same. Give me the subdued cofffee/chocolate tang of brown malt any day.

Some may get pissed off by the ubiquity of London Pride, but Fullers still make a couple of spanking beers. It may be the archive-creeper in me speaking here. 1845 epitomises the British ale taste - biscuity malt and earthy hops. Fuller's Porter. How pleased was I to finally taste it from the cask. Authentic is a dangerous word. So I won't call it an authentic Porter. But it has a London character. Brown malt. That's what makes a London Porter or Stout well, London.

Let me talk for an hour and I'll always get around to Porter.