TBH even my addled brain can't cope with that image ...
... it sends a really bad shiver down my spine!
With regard to getting a brew on I'm afraid to even go in the shed!
The day before I went and broke my leg again I had dropped the temperature on a Coopers Europoean Lager down to 10*C to start a Cold Crash after fermenting it for about 11 days. I've just sent SWMBO out to check and it's still there at 10*C but ...
... I'll have to leave it at least another week before I even give it a sniff! Ah well. a lot of my brews are "By Guess And By God" so it looks like this one may be no different.
As indeed will the fact that SWMBO almost certainly failed to follow phoned instructions and has bled off all the available CO2 in the Sodastream Bottle! The clue was the combination of two real teeth grinding moments:
- "The gas was escaping when I left it last night ...
- ... but it's okay this morning 'cos it's stopped!"
Er .... me?
Actually, for the first time ever (after numerous operations over a period of 60 years) I had to answer the question
"Do you want to be resuscitated if anything happens during the surgery?" I still have some kits left, so for me, it was a no-brainer and I replied "Of course I do, if I'm not going to live like a vegetable."
However, in the hospital they had this lad zooming around the wards organising Skype and other "visual phone calls" for the patients to call their nearest and dearest if they wanted; which is why I answered the
@MyQul Post.
When I first went to sea, the only means of communiaation was a "Marconi Telegram" and they were horrendously expensive to send - so we didn't bother and "news" took at least three weeks to catch up with us.
I've not changed my mind since then.
Why should I phone somebody up to tell them I am dying if they can't do anything about it?
Why would I want my nearest and dearest come to see me dying; and then carry the memory of what I looked like for the rest of their life?
Sorry, but both SMWBO and I have both seen many people die in some pretty gruesome circumstances and one to the proudest memories of my own life is that I requested the Funeral Director to seal down the lid of my own Mum's coffin; so that no-one else would have to see the terrible havoc that death had wreaked on her body before she died.
I wouldn't wish that memory on anyone ...
... least of all, someone who I professed to love!