What wine are we having tonight, Daddy-Bear?
At the thought of wine, the Good Lady jiggled excitedly in her chair as if a gang of bees had started nesting in her salami slipper.
I too felt a tingling in my Don Johnson's at the thought of hitting the sauce tonight.
By the way... Whatever happened to your Saturday night beers?
The Good Lady asked innocently as if she were not poking a red raw wound in my pysche.
I opened my mouth as if to answer but nothing came out.
Instead, my mind flung itself back through the mists of ages. To a time before the plague of COVIDS. When I could bare my sexy mouth to the world and gallop free in the office like a magnificent IT Stallion.
I remembered the the Beer Shop and it's owner, the Bear-Man. His gruff northern accent almost incomprehensible to anyone outwith the North of England or 
I remembered his massive hands and fine beers.
The dank mysterious delight of a cavern that was his shop.
I remembered the time he had a lock-in and I scored an invite and had gotten rip roaringly drunk. Well. I didn't remember it really as most of it was a hazy blur but in Scotland that meant it must have been an amazing night.
I remembered him shutting up shop at the first sign of COVID.
How I had sneered at the folly.
Closing up shop? Because of some silly virus that someone had caught after shagging a Chinese bat? How nonsensical it had seemed.
But, like a harbinger of doom he had only been the first to close. Then everything else did too.
And I was left with only shit beers to drink. Like a common mortal I had supped shitty beers and made gurny faces as I pretended I was enjoying it. But I enjoyed them only as much as I would enjoy a right good pounding in the ring from Hulk Hogan.
If that ever happened I could only hope to make it out with an untorn vest.
I felt a pang in my undercarriage. It was not fair. I wanted beers. I wanted fancy beers. With mad ingredients and even madder percentages of alcohol.
I wanted to dance in the park, three sheets to the wind, like that crazy guy that used to dance on Steemit.
(I think he was nice crazy)
I looked at the Good Lady and I set my jaw in a way that I thought Thor might be proud of.
Whatever happened to the Saturday beers..?
I looked off into the distance whilst simultaneously thumbing my phone like an amorous babboon.
My thumb stopped thumbing and a screen popped up with an email.
It was an email from the Bear Man when he had been doing deliveries.
At the bottom, in his signature was a telephone number.
I let out an involuntary squeeing noise which led the Good Lady to stare at me as if I had suggested we sing the Home and Away theme tune together.
I sniffed at her disdainfully the way I sniff at old leaky washing machines and hit the call button.
It rang.
And rang.
And rang.
And then it answered...
