Whilst walking the dog to the pub last night I suddenly experienced a strange desire, no doubt bought on by the light evenings, for a pint of Lager. Normally being a Guinness drinker the fizzy yellow stuff has little appeal but, being full of the joys of spring, I decided to relent to my inner desires and sup some of the hoppy German brew.
The evening passed, as it often does, in a pleasant miasma of conversation, good company and cheer, until as the night drew to a close, the beer pixie gathered me up in his arms and safely escorted both the dog and myself, back up the hill and to bed.
Waking up this morning I realised that the beer pixie is a funny little sod. I'm eternally grateful for his help in negotiating the couple of miles of narrow country lanes and dark treacherous muddy woodland paths between the hostelry and my home. The little chap usually only takes every penny in my pocket as compensation for ensuring that I (eventually) get home safely without falling in (too many) hedges and ditches on route. However this benevolent little sprite plainly has a vindictive side, and an impassioned dislike of Hoffbrau Export strength lager. This would explain why as he helped into my home without waking up the (whole) house and helped me to take of (some of) my clothes before retiring me (on) to my bed, the little cunt shat in my mouth, leaving me to feel bloody awful this morning.
As I lay in bed willing myself to get up and go to work I remembered why I don't drink lager. It risks the wrath of the beer pixie and tastes weird in the morning, leaving me feeling like a corpse. With a headache.
I think that in future I will stick to Guinness, It may turn your shit black, but that Lager does nasty things to my brain.
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