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Quality control is a vital part of every commercial organisation’s business. And this is especially true for purveyors of fine beverages to the gentry – like the Pig’s Arms.
In keeping with the pub’s dedication to maintaining the highest standards in fine drinking, Merv has decided to appoint another new staff member to the team – our new Cellar Master, Dermot O’Logy.
Dermot O'Logy, resting after a hard day's taste testing
Merv selected Dermot from a highly competitive field on the strength of his dedication to the work and from an outstanding example of his tasting notes – that fell out of his pocket when Manne removed him from the gents helped him disengage from his work.
Merv is pretty sure, no almost certain that this is Dermot’s published work. Possibly.
Merv is expecting Dermot to wax lyrical about Trotter’s Ale (when he regains consciousness – Dermot, not Merv) and he (Merv, not Dermot) wonders what the patrons of the pub really think about the brew – inviting comments from the astute and discerning patrons de porc.
Window Dresser's Arms, Pig & Whistle 
Out of my league.
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Right, mate, you want patrons de porc to say what we think of the beer, mate. I have honest been into the tonic water and I thought that was sweet and a bit inconsequential. Great yarn this however with meaningful editing.
Where was the advertisement placed exactly regards the cellar master gig? Who died that the Arms can employ Dermot?
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No I’m with you there shoe. I suspect it’s Glenda putting in a word with Merv, getting all her fancy boys employed here.
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The bloke has to be able to keep drinking.
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I went to a beer tasting in the Hunter Valley a few weeks ago. Probably stopped drinking two drinks before Dermot!
Now, I think I may be allergic to beer, because it makes me sick!
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Trotter’s ale: a pert little number, aleish in colour with trothy head. Aroma, farm like with hints of hops and barley with the possibility of jockstrap after a hard workout. The barley of course was grown on the western side of the hill after a snow storm. Palete. Sharp with a taste like beer. Bitter not at all, rather friendly. Overall: Makes you laugh a lot or roll around on the ground. Close your eyes and you wouldn’t know what you were drinking.
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There you go. The Pink Drink. Paris, the morning after, a bit gritty. Cool sharp taste with lashings of chocolate, cream and rich brown liqueurs. Strawberries, large and squishy and staining your fingers. Some strong aromatic cigarette smoke at the next table beckoning. Medicinal aftertaste. Alluring. Relinquished but not forgotten, a note lost between pages of the book you were reading.
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Turn another page. A line out of a lyric written especially for a sandshoe. The tonic water has a lilting flip like a page brusquely grabbed and returned to its position in a wind. The dainty hiccup. A just dessert. A bubble when it’s needed. A fill-in thrill. It’s a bottle with a practical clarity about its shimmer in the footlights. C’mon, it means, it’s time to go waltzing on the frog and toad. Nice drop when you get around to having one. 🙂
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There are clean-skins from South Australia costing less than milk. Dormantly ambitious with lots of cigar-box on the middle palate. Cheeky little numbers with just a hint of torment, especially at the crack of Dawn.
Talk about Bacchus:
Cop this.
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Thanks, Gez, love Villa Lobos, especially the guitar preludes, but his material for cello is also outstanding, he was agreat cellist, in his own right!
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The Guinness sounds like breakfast.
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Ah yes. And the Centurians, a walk in the park.
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when I regain full use of my fngers I might commet further. It’s hard to ytpe when you;re shkeing with laughter
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Thanks, Voice. Occasionally a joke just bursts out of the blue. Nice when it amuses someone as much as it amuses me !
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Tastes like piss!
Yes, but how old am I?
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Warrigal, you’re a true connoisseur.
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21 Waz?
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It is very hard to type when you are shickered too.
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It’s very hard to do anything mind when a bloke’s flat on his face with his nose buried in the ground. Almost as if there is no more tomorrow or using a laptop where it is intended.
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Mind you why do I see alcohol drunk to its ultimate use as terrible shockin’ for burnin’ out a bloke’s tackle. So selfish am I…
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I think I want to be schickered knocing around with you crew. It is so funny. I truly now am in the mood. To be schickered. 😉
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knocing=knocking. 🙂
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For a moment I thought you were shickered already. The ability to correct a mistake means you are sober. You
aren’t trying hard enough. PS: the only time my grandmother was totally legless was after a number of gin and
tonics which was something she had never drunk. She had no idea that she was getting drunk upwards from her
feet. I was about 18 at the time and it took me an hour to get her down the hallway and into bed. At that stage she
had uncontrollable giggles and I lost count of how many times she slid off the bed.
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Thank you Voice. I will be practising that. I think I will begin tonight. You’re right. I was not trying hard enough. 🙂
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Done it again! Vivienne. But my immense apologies. I am so sorry. My only exscuse is I am half cut. 🙂
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