It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Grist mass

Here is the spacious new Riddled brewery premises and mastitis clinic, finished just in time for the maturation of the Christmas Ale. We asked the architect whether it really needed all the upward-pointing cloud-busting orgone cannons on the roof but he just muttered darkly and started lining up his felt-pens on his graph-paper in such an unwelcoming way that we decided against persevering with the questions. Also the design is totally not a rip-off of Homeward.

Despite Thundra's wild speculations, this year's formulation is 99.9% holothurian free. In this country, sir, sea cucumbers are not on the menu. Now sea-urchin gonads a.k.a. Kina, that is another matter.

To protect the recipe, not to mention our Intellectual Property in the field of Disruptive Milking-shed design, security in Riddled Towers is up to Code Fuligin, an all-time high. We run a tight ship here at Riddled which is the best kind for keeping the water out.

Another Kiwi is concerned about 'hacking attacks' which turns out to be a term of art and does not refer to the unfortunate occasion when Mrs Cat hoicked up a furball into the hop filter. We have hired Mother Hitton and her Littul Kittons to handle our Information Security, which is not a reflection on the rival bid from Evangeline van Holsterin's vile nephew Throgmorton and someone he knows from the mortuary.

Apparently the main hacking threat comes from North Korea. AK overheard a conversation to this effect down at the Old Entomologist after Poriferan Paraphyly Trivia Night, and if that level of sourcing is good enough for the news media then it's good enough for Riddled. It seems that the rogue state's leadership have misconstrued the name of this year's Christmas Ale as an insult and might use their advanced software-espionage capability to exact revenge. I can only say that 'Kim Ill Sung' is part of a time-honoured tradition of naming brews after dead collectivist totalitarians -- who can forget the Stalin Stout (a Purge in Every Pint) or the Trotsky Headsplitter Bitter? -- as well as being a good summary of the beverage's side effects.

Despite the heightened Intermesh security we are not ignoring more mundane Humint channels through which information might leak Which is to say that monitoring of the brewery staff is in full force. A cunning labyrinth has been constructed at the brewery entrance to prevent staff wandering around unsupervised; tigris gave Another Kiwi a model of the maze so he can lead them in and out at the changing of shifts, which he has glued to the end of the Rod of Lamentation.


UPDATE: Given the existence of labyrinths on the end of sticks, eventually holes in the wall will develop their own matching labyrinths as a form of self-defense. This is the result of evolution (and Narrativium) and should not be misread as any kind of evidence for "intelligent design".

Oh noes, Greenish Hugh has succumbed to temptation and accepted bribes from our commercial rivals, and is trying to smuggle out a sample of wort concealed in his stylish helmet! But AK has apprehended him, adroitly wielding the Rod of Lamentation and assisted by Mrs Cat.

Firm but loving disciplinary measures will be applied and I am sure that Greenish Hugh will see the error of his actions.

Below is an artist's impression of what Snuggles the Dog of Doom would look like after some sensory fine-tuning with the Evolvamat has bestowed upon him the olfactory capacity to recognise disloyal or insecure thoughts just from the subtle modulations of odour. Sadly, tigris looked at the sketch and managed to restrain her enthusiasm so Snuggles' dormant DNA remains unactivated.

Christmas Ale is best enjoyed from a small green sock. Apparently this is traditional.