Stellaaaaaaaaaa!

I don't care how small a country Belgium is, how neutrally it fits within the UN confines, or how delicious its chocolates are. Belgian beer is flat-out deadly.

Stella Artois is such a genteel name for a beer. It's almost aristocratic, suggesting refinement whose modern air recommends its consumption by a cosmopolitan gal like myself. But no. In copious amounts she has all the charm of paint stripper, and a kick like a rabid mule.

So to take a leaf from my mother's book of tricks (years ago of course), if you were with me on Friday night this message goes out to you: If I did it - I'm sorry; If I said it - I'm sorry; If I even contemplated doing it - I'm sorry. Stella made me do it.