I
do not play poker in the traditional sense. I don't think many
professional poker players have a victory dance for when they win a
hand. Neither do they have trouble finding space for the cards on the
table because of all the food that is in the way. There is no denying
that I don't so much "play cards" as "have a
feast whilst hoping for a flush". I don't think the Jaffa
Cakes sat well with the lime & chocolate sweeties. The
marshmallows together with the kettle crisps was (in retrospect)
not a good idea. And heaven only knows what I was thinking of by
washing the whole lot down with wasabi flavoured peanuts.
Consequently my innards were something of a disaster zone this
morning.
Talking
of disaster zones I spent half an hour attacking the kitchen this
morning. "Daddies
Little Angel TM"
made a wonderful bowl of stew last night. She also made quite a bit
of carnage whilst she was at it. When we went out last night we left
some of the stew in the pan for "er
indoors TM"
who then burned the stew into the pan. So I had my work cut out for
me this morning - once I could actually see what I was doing. The
starter on the kitchen light had gone west.
Following
the revelation that "My
Boy TM"
has
started tweeting
I dusted off my Twitter account. I can't say I'm at all impressed
with Twitter, but I can see what he's up to.
And
then we got on with the business of the day. The Bat called, and we
made our way to the station where we met up with Steve. We then got a
group saver to Folkestone (costing
£3.50 each!),
and having found the Rear Admiral, we made our way to somewhere where
we could have a fry-up.
Once
fed we fancied a pint before going on to the main business of the
day. With the Pullman not yet open we had a pint in the British Lion.
A pint of ale and a pint of raspberry cider. And then a pint in the
Guildhall over a game of pool.
Suitably
refreshed we braved the monsoon and made our way down to the Leas
lift for the beer festival. It would have been nice to have been able
to have sat outside and to have had some space. But that wasn't going
to happen, so we huddled in with the normal people. There was a dodgy
five minutes when the antique door of the building fell off, and the
owners weren't happy when I pressed a bell labelled "Do
Not Press"
(what
did they expect?)
The beer was good, and we posed for photos; our own and those of
various official photographers, before deciding that we'd had an
elegant sufficiency. Burp!
We
did make notes of the ales as we went, but once home the notes didn't
seem to make much sense; comments such as "Oh
hello my little love puppy"
and "Oh
my!"
probably made a lot of sense at the time. Still, if you know where to
look there are photos
of the event on-line.
And
so on to the Chambers bar for a crafty half before finding a kebab on
the way to the station for the train home. With er
indoors TM"
off on a mission for the evening I dozed in front of the telly for
the evening. I've not done a beer festival for some time. I quite
miss them...
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