Indigo whales have a message for you: the unnatural curvature of the spinal column harks back to glory days of bold pirates and fast-talking women. Munificent Bier’s Bear Beer, like that episode of Star Trek featuring Richard Thugg you invigilate to, is full of frothy, dranky bubbles. Starpirates harness the power of whalesong to travel between vessels; tumbler to flute to shot-ship, with the intervening Euclidean space proving no barrier to the white and lathered language of date rape. Loamy crusts extrude breezily within the void, seeking my eager gullet. Against their silica hulls, bears riding whales in silver harnesses brush daintily, pawing at the nectar within.

Great goats and gouts of gravel jive gently betwixt political parties – vast interregnums around drankage are sobering. Indeed, self-pleasure is not a sin when taken within the context of the greater grood. Nor let it be said that we are all without humour – the sugar proves a worthwhile emulsifier. Gooey enzymes caress gently my secret, shameful second life: internet forums and typographic Catholicism.

Harlots would argue different, certainly. Organic wines and diffuse, weakened whiskey make not good friends. Have you ever shaken hands with a grape? Ordained grapes do not count, especially the ones that poke at blind boys in the night. Harvesting flavour is no part-time business, the whales will be first to tell you, and even the bear beer satisfies in this regard. Or is it?