Sometimes my kids ask me what my favourite shop is.
Well, I quite like Forbidden Planet but it's too cramped and often too busy. I loved A1 Comics until they got rid of most of their comics. I loved Go Outdoors for the miles of aisles of ropes and boots and waterproofs and camping stuff that I really, really need but never could afford. I have a wee fetish thing for Aldi and its crazy middle row. But they all leave me, well, wanting.
Hippo Beers entered my life in November. We've exchanged glances from a distance. Had the odd flirty exchange. They have my details but not been in touch. I don't know, should I contact them? Maybe I wrote my email down wrong. Maybe they lost it. Maybe they've been too busy and not had time. Maybe their PCs are down. Or their internet. Maybe I should call them. Just to check they've still got my email. Would that be pushy? Would that just be weird?
But what if it's because they don't like me?
Their shop on Queen Margaret Drive in Glasgow has more than 300 beers in stock at any one time. About a dozen shelves of Scottish beers. A bay of ciders. Ales from England, Europe and the US. They have wheat beers and anti-allergy ales. Porters and stouts and wines and whiskies. They probably have the cure for cancer buried in there. Here's an article the Evening Times wrote about Hippo Beers last week.
I think I might be falling in love.