Sorry. We are closed till the 3rd!
I glared at the sign on the Beer Shop door and frowned my mightiest frown. Somewhere thunder rolled ominously.
Bollocks?!
I kicked at the door of the Beer Shop, which remained resolutely closed.
What would I do now? I needed my speciality beer for the weekend beer review. What could I do now that this place was so inconsiderately closed?
I jerked upright as if someone had goosed my dark snarler with an ice cube. Oh God... what if I had to... had to...
Go to a SUPERMARKEEEEEEET??!
I trembled in my shoes at the thought. Picking up some cheap canned lager type nonsense from a peasants market and having to drink the piss in it for the delectation of men the world over, pawing at their screens and leering as I suffered such foul indignity for them.
No!
NO?!
NO!!! It could not be.
I kicked the Bear Man's shop door once more in the hopes that he slumbered within and would answer with a big smile and hold up his meaty hands full of exotic beers.
But nothing.
Wait. There was always that shitty little dirt hole in Govanhell, the vibrant community on the south of the river. Vibrant actually just means it is full of crooks and hoors as my dear old Dad used to say.
Fuckity fucksticks.
It looked like I would have to get dirty for this one. I stuck a hand in my pants and shifted my boomstick from the right to the left. When going into enemy territory, it pays to be unorthodox.
I swung open the half-decayed wooden door of the Govanhell beer shop and stepped in with a confident swagger.
I have long found that when braving the shittier areas of Glasgow it helps to have a swagger that could dry washing.
Inside the feeky place, a youth with a face like labial discharge lounged by the till.
Whit ye wanting?
He asked as if he fucking hated customers.
Fuckin beer, ats how am in a beer shoap.
I replied in the finest of Glaswegian accents.
Aye, well. Fire in, man.
Labi-Andy waved dismissively to the shelves lining the shops.
I shook my head, Labi-Andy was no Bear-Man, that was for sure.
There wasn't much to see on the shelves. I pawed half-heartedly at some of the beers. Most of the cheap shit you find in the supermarket was there. Then, as if by chance, something caught my eye.
Is this one any good?
I waggled the bottle at Labi-Andy.
How the fuck should ah know?
He grunted, looking up from his phone only momentarily.
I rolled my eyes and fought the impulse to ram a bottle of beer up his arse before dragging him out in the street for a kicking.
I examined the bottle, Dragon's Milk. It sounded fierce. It made me smile. I picked that and the other one that caught my eye and took them up to the till.
They look fuckin boggin, mate.
Labi-Andy picked them up and looked at them in disgust.
Aye, that's ma favourite kind of beer, the fucking boggin ones.
I shook my head at his dickishness and paid before high-tailing it out of Govanhell whilst I still had the skin on my back.
