When she had stood in front of the rows of shiny silver tins in Waitrose, she had purposefully passed over the Carlsberg and the Coors and purchased brown bottles of Westmalle, a golden beer she had read was one of the best blond ales you could buy on this side of the Channel. Piglet looked up from a ball of labneh she had been coaxing from its muslin when Kit handed Darren the bottle. He inspected the label before taking a small sip. “Nice, isn’t it?” Piglet said. Darren nodded, swallowing. “That’s a proper beer.”
I hate her 😭😭
