On the Island I was. Living the life.
Got to my hotel soon enough to get cleaned up and get myself to a nearby bar to clear the year's first week's worth of sawdust from my throat. The female bartender was pouring four ciders in addition to 50 different beer. "I'll have one of each of the ciders," I told my leather trousered bartender. "Then I will have one more - once I have decided tonight's gold medal winner."
The Merridale Momoro, a pink cider that tasted faintly of pineapple, I would have judged best if it were summer. I'll get back to it when winter is over. The Merridale House Cider was either a still cider or flat. Either way I judged it a fail. Sea Cider's cherry cider, a 10% concoction, was predictably wicked but I was not looking to get as numb as that shit'll make you.
The winner was the Ward's - British Columbia's oldest cider I believe. What it lacked in complexity, something I prefer in cider, it made up for in drinkability. Good all round drink it is.
I was joined in time at the bar by a gentleman whose multiple medications were keeping him off the street for the time being. "I don't want to be talked to," he informed me soon after I began to speak to him. I shut the fuck up knowing he would begin speaking to me within 5 minutes himself. When he did I grasped my cold beverage and moved as far away as I could from the anti-social motherfucker to the other end of the bar.
That's the end of the bar where the leather trousered lass was spending most of her time after all.
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