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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. 



About Twenty8Later

A brand new podcast mocking news, sport & entertainment in handy 28-day chunks. Good times in a terrible, terrible world.

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