Tag: castle milk stout

Day 710 – Support plan backfires

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It was a fairly simple plan, and I thought that it had worked.

It took some doing, but I managed to convince Mrs 6000 that Castle Milk Stout was a partly Ukrainian product, and therefore, by drinking it, I was doing my bit to aid that country in its current plight. This got me out of having to answer those difficult questions about why the margarine and salad and the mayo were out on the counter in the kitchen, because the fridge was full of Castle Milk Stout. It also enabled me to drink plenty of the good stuff in order to make room for the less good stuff back in the refrigerator.

Genius.

I hadn’t reckoned on the goodwill of my wife though, and the lengths that she would go to in order to assist those in need. I should have known.

Because even though she doesn’t like Castle Milk Stout – at all – I found her drinking some of my stash this afternoon. “Just to do her bit.”

I had to come clean. Because there’s no point in my having plenty of my favourite delicious, creamy 6% dark beer in the house if other people are going to drink it. No matter how good their intentions.

Now I’m in a lot of trouble. Again.

Day 569 – Experiments gone disastrously wrong

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If you’ve been in science for any length of time, you’ll have had plenty of these. They’re sometimes expected, often annoying, and occasionally soul-destroying, but it’s all part of the learning experience. I tried two experiments yesterday. One of them was documented in some detail here, and the other one was simply enjoying a small bottle of Castle Milk Stout with dinner.

Both were fun experiments to do, and both seemed like really good ideas at the time. But in retrospect, neither of them have gone particularly well. I woke up last night at 3am with a towering hangover of note, and despite the best efforts of a combination of paracetamol, ibuprofen and codeine, I then woke up at a more reasonable time this morning with a collection of symptoms best described as “being completely broken”. Head, joints, muscles…
And my brain is not working again. Argh.

Let’s get the learning process going, then. No more alcohol experiments for a while. Not even a little CMS. And that’s disappointing. Not because I need the alcohol, but more because I like the taste (now that I can again). Sure, there are the well-advertised 0.0% alternatives (although thankfully(?) not for Milk Stout), but they are often very disappointing in the taste department.

Which brings us to the elephant in the room. The one which seemingly rolled over me in bed last night. Because in 11 days time, I have to go back to the rock and do three days of stuff, back to back. Based on the results from yesterday, this is is going to be very difficult. And that’s got me very worried. The first rule of Parents Assisting With School Visits To Robben Island Club is that you do not talk about Parents Assisting With School Visits To Robben Island Club, but I generally ignore that one. However, the second rule of Parents Assisting With School Visits To Robben Island Club is that you need to actually assist with the school visit to Robben Island, rather than being a liability.

And honestly, this morning, I would be a liability.

Crap it all. To use a well-used South African phrase: What must happen now?*

* The use of the phrase “What must happen now?” often then followed by an awkward silence, purposefully shifts the burden of the decision-making process – and therefore all responsibility for any negative outcomes resulting from that process – onto someone else, immediately absolving the protagonist of any blame, guilt or accountability.
I am fully aware of the implications of using it here, and despite that, I am still using it here.
Almost desperately.

Sundaze

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The good news is that we survived yesterday. And in actual fact, the whole thing was a huge success. A hot, sweaty, dusty success, but a success nevertheless.

The slightly worse news is that today is very nearly almost as warm. For the most part, I’ve been hiding inside next to a panting beagle, but parental duties called and thus I find myself writing this from a local trampoline park warehouse. This is essentially just a big metal box in the sun, full of people physically exerting themselves, and their air-con maintenance leaves a lot to be desired.

It’s basically just like a huge public sauna with neon rubber rugs and a hefty deep house soundtrack.

Kinky.

That comparison having been made, it should be noted that my favourite thing to do when I get out of a sauna is have a massive bottle of Milk Stout.

Or two.

And I see no reason to change things just because there’s not a copious amount of pine or a guy called Lars involved here.