Drinking up is hard to do

I do love you, so very much.

See that bottle over there on the right? That's the last bottle of my first batch of homebrew. The last one. I'm feeling a wee bit broken-hearted.

This bottle marks the end of my first brew, and, you know, we've had a bit of a thing going these past few weeks. You always remember your first brew, they say, and it's true.

Should I drink it now, just be done with it? End the whole affair? Or should I leave it, let things linger, maybe drink it in a month, or two, see how those extra few weeks help? What happens if they don't though? What happens if it sours things?

It started simple enough, just me and a tin. Then the fermenting barrel got involved - that complicated things I tell you. The yeast helped, I 'spose. Forgetting the sugar didn't. Like birthday flowers a day late, adding a sugar solution certainly helped mend things, but it wasn't quite enough. The damage was done. The cracks were there. I thought we were over.

But we persevered. We gave each other a bit of space for a few weeks. That time spent conditioning was like a salve for us.

Three weeks and we tried again. There was, sure, a spark, but something was missing. We limped on. Tried again a week later, and wow. Beer that wasn't disgusting. Beer that was, you know, drinkable. That respected you in the morning. Beer that, err, went down on you. 

Things got bubbly, exciting. I thought, you know, it might have been love. That this was the one. Sure, the "sugar" thing came up – the occasional bottle seemed a wee bit flat or insipid or sour – but it's nothing we couldn't work through ... Only, we've run out of time. This bottle here is the last one. My last one. And now I have to decide.

I know I have to move on. I know there are plenty more brews in the sea, but, well, drinking up is hard to do.

Hippo Beers, My Favourite Shop

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.

It's a neat shop, an airy shop, a shop you like to spend time in, wander about in. Read the labels and not feel a twat. Have a chat with the staff and not feel a twat. Buy one beer and one beer only and not feel a twat.

I think I might be falling in love.