Charred to carbon at edges.
One unhappy Russian.
Name: Old Socks
Venue: Red Lion, Marston
Review/notes: Aroma of a Werther’s Original, and true to the label the taste of old socks (dirty ones, at that). Cheap and I think brewed in the building.
After yesterday’s long-ish run (most I’ve done in months…lazy), today was 3 miles bisected by the beer stop: twelve minutes each direction and somehow always in a headwind. Haiku from a work incident which prompted the beer run.
[DT =Daily Tipple, explained in DT #000 here]