Let Me Sleep

I'm not really here.

I'm drinking Thornbridge Bracia, eating bacon and egg cobs, wrapping my wife's pressies and listening to "Rocking Around The Christmas Tree".

When Rebecca gets back from church, we'll go to her parents and have a lazy afternoon of random food at random times. Then an evening at home with present opening, cheesy music and finger food. And That Bottle Of Beer.

You know the one. Every beer bugger has That Bottle. The one that gets lionised and bubble-wrapped and treasured and swaddled and kept in a box wrapped in duck tape so that you don't drink it by 'accident'.

Give yourselves a present today. Open That Bottle. After all, it was brewed to be drank. And adored.

I'd have nothing to write about if it wasn't for the brewers, publicans, writers, friends and strangers who fuel my fire and hop my desire.

To you all: have a merry, messy Christmas and a prosperous New Year.

Now, Let Me Sleep