Utopia Does Not Last Long Enough

We enjoy our lie-in amongst the chaos that is Paddington Station or at least it feels like it. After which I take Doggo on park with his ball. L and Daughter head off into town, where L embarks on a bender at the Rock City ticket office, including the Delays tickets she promises to be eternally grateful for, while Daughters apparently goes blonde, ish, in the hairdressers.

I get home and enter L and Doggo into the Canicross event at Crufts. I can't do it because I haven't ran him in other events, so I'm not eligible. After three years of agility we haven't even had a sniff of Crufts qualification but for Canicross you just have to apply to enter. Simple as that, of course they may not get chosen but its a damn sight easier than having to run in loads of qualifiers. It'll be good to watch them if they do get in.

The usual Saturday afternoon misery sees Derby give debuts to four new players against the mighty Wigan but it makes little difference to the performance. Particularly not when you have Claude Davis needlessly getting himself sent off and once he's departed we concede the traditional late goal.

In the evening, L gets skirted up and we head into town where the Borlase has Everards Christmas Ale 4.5% on sale. Not that it is at all Christmassy in taste or strength. There should be a law that no ale of less than 5% can be called Christmas or Winter.

However all is not lost because alongside it they have the perfect winter warmer/Christmas ale on. This being my good chum Old Peculiar. I can't resist texting my mate the Quaker, ribbing him for the fact that he's on the wagon while I'm on the Old Peculiar. He thanks me for my support in his abstinence and warns me to be careful I don't choke on it. Which is nice of him. Why do people abstain in January, when some of the better beers are still around. If you're going to have a month off why not do the month before Christmas, then you'd have an excuse to miss all those Christmas parties.

Utopia does not last long enough, after three pints it runs out and we walk out of the pub in protest. We cross the road to the Ropewalk. Where Greene King have some special on, which as it does actually appear to be one of their own and not something they have stolen from someone else, I give it ago but it's pretty average.

L is obviously less drunk than me because she cooks up a spam curry which is totally excellent and keep us out of the curry house.