The Rolling Stones were Right

I wound up with a house full of company this weekend. It’s my personality that I moaned and groaned about them coming. I expected to pout over my poor dog, revel in my misery, and here they were interfering with that.

When they arrived, my brother was with my parents. He rarely ever shows up, so it was a surprise. We all managed to have a nice visit. My brother and I stayed up late talking about my latest book, The Cock of the South.

I don’t have genuine beta readers, so family is the best I’ve got. My brother will tell me, at least, where something goes astray. He’s right most of the time too, so that helps.

My mother and my wife both wanted to go shopping. Dad’s getting up there in years, and prefers to stay home with The Golf Channel. I love Dad dearly, but The Golf Channel makes me want to gouge my eyes out with a twig. We left him to his golf and went shopping with the girls.

I introduced my brother to Old Chicago Pizza, and we spent our shopping trip drinking beer. By the time my wife found me, I’d signed up for the World Beer Tour. I was halfway to “winning” a cool Halloween beer tee shirt. This is a mini tour that counts as part of the world tour. It takes 110 different beers to complete the whole tour.

Some of the beers were pretty nasty; mostly the local concoctions. There seems to be a trend out there to brew anything, then cover it up with massive amounts of hops and sell it. “Yuck!”

One beer was a standout. It’s called Wychwood Hobgoblin. It’s a bitter, so it’s not devoid of hops. It just comes across really well. There were several pumpkin beers on the list too. I’m a pumpkin beer junkie, so I call the mini tour a win. They, wisely, limit me to four beers in one trip. I returned today and brought home my tee shirt.

It turns out, you can’t always get what you want, but sometimes, you get what you need.

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