Christmas Ale is a'coming on.

So Smut and I (that is a classy hat) are out demonstrating the new Olympic sport of Sickle throwing to the Riddled Horse Riding (and falling off we always say) Academy, when three separate messengers arrive simultaneously.

I'm not sure if you've ever had to try and decipher Snuggles The Dog of Doom, Milton the Griffin and Quacky the Crow when they have something to tell you, but it was only with the application of pumpkin seeds soaked in Vodka that we were able to ascertain what they were vouchsafing.

Basically it was this: Snuggles is a lick arse, Milton is a toffee nosed git and Quacky is a self-righteous blowhard. Oh and the Fruit of Mogick is ready to pick for the Christmas Ale. 

The origins of the Fruit of Mogick are lost in the mists of the "Eco R1 gene conservation in Porifera lysate vesicles and salted cracker balancing" night down at the Old Entomologist. Got no time for explanation got no time to lose,tomorrow night you'll find me, sleeping underneath the moon at yellow river. We seem to be getting some interference from Radio Riddled here. Damn that Friday Ole Favourites day, it sucks me in every time.

  Quickly we assembled the team and sallied forth, fifth and sixth (Milligan 1970's) to the orchard where the Fruit of Mogick tress grow. Of course Mogick, himself is gone, long time passing, what with the Tax Department and their jackbooted thugs wanting to see "records" but the fruit is freely available to all who can remember the alarm combination for the electrified fence and know what sort of tranquillizers knock out Hermann the attack hedgehog. Laugh if you want but a ringworm from Hermann is not cool. The initial itchiness is bad enough but the bursting out of your chest and looking for food at dinner time is most unpleasant.

Anyway it was a successful day of  fruit picking and the Christmas Ale this year should be a wholesome and nourishing brew and only mildly psychotropic. See above, as tigris gets the wrong mushrooms. A full body purge is not substitute for a floaty  middle palate, I say, but times must where the devilled eggs.

Note also Smut's careful and safe handling of the crossbow which only winged Old Jem this year. Jem was understandably a little let down by not being in Hospital for this Christmas. He feels that the nurses won't have anybody to fend off. 

Also note Evangeline van Holsterin's idiot boyfriend's dog Custis. See that he has not changed into a Flemish Giant Rabbit at this point so how can it be our fault?

Now as soon as our shipment of Brooklyn Red Honey arrives we can get into secondary fermentation.