DDH Hopteron


The Mill

Hopteron, it’s cawed, but what that means ah’ve git nae fuckin clue. This’n was me last can – it was time tae get clean, an ah had me list. Jist this, a cheeky stoot, an a few muir IPAs, wan or twa pales an then some ae those novelty brews – ah think ah still had a PiePA and mebbe some sort ae tequila soor in the fridge. An a bottle ae natty wain. Got tae make sure ah have the best chance ae success, mind. Cannae have a well stocked fridge and expect tae just no visit it fae time tae time, eh? An after aw this, ah’ll stay on the tea an soada  – but ye need a wee bit ae run-up tae it, aye? An if ah fall off ae the wagon, well, wha can ye expect fae a craft beer nerd oan a Satdae neet?

                Ah was reedy fer this – mah whole body wis screamin fer a brew. Like mah tongue’d bin squeezed oot and hit wi a fine grit sandpaper, an the rest ae me mooth had bin filled wi sawdust an shite. Smeels reet tropicaw, as weel as a wee bit dank, an that reet oot the can. Like, as ye poor it oot ae the can there’s a waft that smeels like ah imagine Jamaica’d smeel. If there’s a more tropicaw smeellin beer, ah’ve nae smeelt the cunt. The condensation beads oan the skin ae some reet knobbly looking lizard frae the depths oa some hell ah’ve no yet made mah wae tae, black oan black wi a green eye, jist peerin, like.

                It poors pale an orange, an ye cannae see through fer shite. Like ah seid, its aw tropicaw fruit – pineapples an orangis an mangoas an passionfruit an the like. Mebbe some stoanfruit, like – nectrins or summat. As well as aw that, there’s summat like hemp, like some wee jobbie’s hawldin a loose poakitful ae green shite somewhere in the room. Enough ae that – time for a wee gae on the fucker.

                It’s guid. As advertised – tropicaw fruits an weed, like chasing a bong hit wi a Prima ae Just Juice. Bitterness at the back. It disnae grow, but it lingers like a mad cunt, always there but nivir oorpooers. It’s a guid blend ae the twa IPA styles, though – like fruity NEIPA up front but wi a dank an bitter West Coast finish. Its big bubble fizzy, jist perfect fer pushin the big hops. Drives them reet up ye. After a few wee moments ye git jist a little hit ae musk sticks an aw. Try tae imagine a scenario, reet, waire ye’ve had a wee bag ae sweets, ye played a cheeky solo oan a Gatorade saxophoane, ye spilt just a wee bit ae the water oan yersel, an then ye chase the whole thing wi a nice moothfull ae some kiddie’s juicebox, an ye’ll have kent aboot what ye need tae in order tae ken this brew. In a guid way, mind – stays proper light, even wi the big hops an aw.

                Ah settle intae the sofa, fer a grand night in quarantine – there’s a parma oan route, and the rain that’s been relentlessly lashin a the windae seems tae’ve eased up some. It’s no so grey anymoor, an this can is hittin mah body and turnin it tae warm golden jelly. There’s a fitba game oan, but ah dinnae have the ability tae give a shite aboot tha reet noo. Everythin else jist choons oot. Grand.

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