As my hand stretched out to push open the narrow door into the Bear-Man's lair, I paused.
Something was different.
Odd even.
I sniffed through my majestic nostrils, there! Definitely different. Something unusual. What was that scent? Feet? Baw-Hum? Vaginas?
All three?
Whatever it was, was setting my teeth on edge.
I decided to unleash some of my pent up mannity, giving the doors a sturdy shove and striding into the darkened den of beer in which the Bear-Man lived.
Howdy!
An American voice sounded out from the direction of the counter. Not just American but a lady American. What would that be then, an Americanooman?
In Scotland, we are unused to such exotica and my left Jeffrey twitched so hard that my whole body jerked.
The Americanooman laughed. No doubt used to jerky Scotsmen. Maybe she liked them?
Erm, I was expecting...
Fuck, what was Bear-Man's name? Mr Bear? I scrabbled around for a harmless alias.
Thingmy... Thingmy is usually here on a Friday?
The Americanooman looked puzzled then laughed again.
You mean my Husband? Charles? Big beard?
Ah yes, him.
Husband eh? Any thoughts I had had of her getting to grips with my pork panini evaporated into the ether.
So, what's your poison. What's your favourite hop? Let me guess, is it Simcoe?
I stared at her blankly. What the fuck did she mean, Simcoe? What was a Simcoe, a horse? Was she suggesting we go out riding?
Um, Simcoe?
I said as if holding a small rodent.
Ha, I thought so. You didn't look like a Chinook man, maybe Citra.
I wondered if she was ill. A Chinook was a helicopter, everyone knows that? Wait, do they have helicopters in America? What the hell was she babbling on about? Was she mad? Had she been drinking some of her own stock?
I mumbled something incomprehensible even to me and turned to shelves hoping she would leave me alone. But no, only seconds later as I studied the label on a bottle, I felt a warm breath on the back of my neck.
Oh you will like that one, bags of Amarillo in it.
I barked a strange laugh, it was awfully high pitched. Like a hyena.
Amarillo, isn't that a song?!
I whinnied.
She laughed yet again. She seemed to spend a lot of time laughing. At Scotsmen too. The cheek.
The hops, silly?
She said tilting her head at me.
Hops? I know what hops are, they're something to do with beer. What was she talking about though? She opened her mouth to menace me with more gibberish.
Ang on, ang on. Av got summat you will luv.
A burly bearded voice interrupted her before she could speak.
My knees buckled slightly with relief. It was the Bear-Man. My joy at seeing him so strong I almost tumbled into his brawny arms and begged for him to rescue me from the awful Americanooman and her crazy talk of nonsense things.
Yes please!?
I said slightly hysterically.
Chilli beer, two mental kinds. You will fuckin luv um.
I looked at his hateful wife triumphantly See, he doesn't bully me with talk of hops I thought.
Magic, I will take em. Rack them up!
