I’ve recently got into cider. I love it, I do. And of all the many ciders on the market I LOVE Aspalls Cider.
Recently I’ve been unemployed and I’ve been doing a lot of writing. One day i decided that – rather than have the distraction of Arkham City on the PlayStation – I’d do some writing out of the house… and in the pub.
I duly ordered an Aspalls and was handed a beautiful branded goblet for my troubles. I was in awe of the magnificence of this pint glass. I sat down and began typing but I just couldn’t concentrate. I was infatuated by the glass. It was no use. There would be no writing here today.
I drank my cider and decided I should head home – I’d lock away the Batman game and write there after all. But as I emptied the last vestiges of my drink and looked around I saw that I was alone. The bar staff had disappeared and there were no other customers. I COULD STEAL THE GOBLET IF I WANTED. I COULD DRINK IN DECADENCE FROM THE COMFORT OF MY OWN COUCH IF I WANTED. YES, A CIDER GOBLET THAT I COULD CALL MY OWN. MWAH HA HA…
I looked around again, double-checking I was indeed on my lonesome. I was.
I looked at the exit, then at the glass. Back at the exit, back at the glass.
But I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t overcome my morale compass. My conscience had the better of me.
And so, even today I drink my cider out of what is essentially a fucking beaker. Like a child. And it’s all the fault of my morales.