I hab a cole. An when I hab a cole, I want my copy of Wind in the Willows, a pot of soup, the company of my family, eight blankets on the bed and a beer that could stop a freight train. Happy is the man with a monklish ale of the massive sort to help him through a moment like this.

Fig, date, apple butter. That's about it but it tells you nothing. Absolutely nothing. There is baseball glove - that flavour that you chewed on when you were a kid out in the quiet of the outfield. There is also the bittersweet of sucking on the little pink-white honeyed dew of clover, too. Much more in there, too. It is a gentle giant. Deeply smoked amber under an off-cream sheet of fine froth and foam. A smooth sip definitely styles on Bernardus 12 but not too reverential to stake its own claim.

Love it. BAer's engage in some sort of odd fertility rite.