The Chronicles of Skink

Post #1 made 6 years ago
[MODNOTE: Skink posted the below in our main recipe conversion thread. We think it is far too good to be buried there and deserves a thread of its own :). We hope to hear more chronicles from Skink.]

The Chronicles of Skink, Son of Skunk

Yea, verily, I say unto thee, fellow mashers of the venerable grain in the close-meshed fabric, let me tell you a tale of swords and sorcery, of dashing damsels, and of the fabled and feared beast that lurks in the shadowy recesses of the Ye Olde Fabled Internet... the tale of Skink, son of Skunk.

In days long past, a handsome (?) young wastrel called Skink, son of Skunk, journeyed far from the lands of his childhood, until, after many trials and tribulations with elderberries, parsnips and crappy beer kits, he arrived at the hallowed gates of Castle BIAB, with hopes, dreams, and barely an arse in his trousers. And, forsooth, he endeavoured to grasp the dark art that is known as Ye Olde Brew in a Bag. And, yea, he was welcomed with open arms, particularly by the King of said fiefdom, the venerable Pistol Patch (may the sun eternally shine on his loins, and may his toast always fall butter side up). But the young wastrel was poor, and getting progressively poorer, bedevilled as he was by the tyrannical, self-serving behemoth known as Ye Olde Irish Banking System. And thus, he became one of those fabled, feared and vaguely disturbing beasts known as THE LURKER!!! Every day, he wouldst watch from the shadows, a lonely voyeur, admiring King Pistol Patch's patience with serfs who insisted on trying to make square recipes fit round holes, and chuckling at Ye Olde Continuing Sparring between King PP and Sir Bobbrews about the young usurper... the tap.

But, verily, young (?) Skink refused to give in; he knew that his time would come. And, forsooth, he didst in time make the acquaintance of another young and handsome (?) (?) pleb by the name of Number Seven, who also wished to learn the dark arts. But Number Seven did have an arse in his trousers, and a considerable one at that. In return for Skink's knowledge (?), he didst pledge to help finance the operation, and, thus, Skink didst burst out of the shadows, and climb up the long, winding staircase that leads to the hallowed halls of the Castle BIAB...

Okay, enough frivolity (I've had a few, all right?). Skink is back, although he's never really been away, and ready to go, with the aid of his good cricketing buddy Mat (I won't divulge where Number Seven came from). We've decided on the ESB from Jamil's excellent Brewing Classic Styles book, mainly because we wanted to start with a bitter, and both of his other bitter recipes have Special Roast in them, which we can't get here. I think I've filled out the important bits, although I know there's an issue with the hops in his recipes – I just can't remember what it is (I've had a few, all right?). I would appreciate it if someone could look over my Biabacus, and tell me what I've done wrong, particularly King PP, may the sun always...okay, I won't start again.

P.S. If me Dad knew I'd called him a skunk, I'd be drinking ESB through a straw, regardless of his being in his seventies...
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Last edited by Skink on 15 Mar 2014, 08:38, edited 1 time in total.

Post #2 made 6 years ago
Hahaha! You idiot Skink :lol:. Great read mate :thumbs:. I hope you post another chronicle every time it tickles your fancy.

I'll do the boring number stuff for you mate a bit later in another thread - don't want to make the Chronicles boring :)

Will bump this thread when finished :peace:.
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Post #3 made 6 years ago
Okey dokey Skink. Have written an answer to the BCS question here which is an updated BCS fix.

I wasn't sure where to post comments on your BIABacus file. Hate to not be able to follow on in the tone of the first post but wasn't sure where else to post.

There are no major errors required to your file apart from changing the 22.7 on the first line of Section D to 20.19 L as described in the post linked above. And, get rid of the 40 on the second line. (If you have the 40 there it will over-ride everything. If you just have the 20.19 L, you'll see the IBU's come to 36.3.)

Here are things to make your next file easier though...

Section C - No need to type 1.056 on left and right. Only a need to type on the right if you intend to alter the OG of the original recipe (make it stronger or weaker).

Section C and D - No need to type the same thing on the left and right. For example, Maris Otter or Kent Goldings on the right. Just the left is needed. Once again, only time you type anything on the right is if it is different from the left hand field.

(Don't know why your Marris Otter is 7.8 EBC on the left and 4.8 EBC on the right. Normal Maris Otter is usually a tad higher than 7.8. You can get a low colour Maris Otter and 4.8 is about right for that. Not a big deal though.)

Only other worry is that you are going a bit high in the kettle in your mash tun. Maybe hold a few litres back to give yourself a bit more headspace to play with.

Good stuff! I hereby dub thee Sir Skink ;),
King PP
:interesting:
Last edited by PistolPatch on 16 Mar 2014, 19:57, edited 1 time in total.
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Post #4 made 6 years ago
Loved the Chronicles Skink, a great read, had me spluttering in me ale at the "and a considerable one at that" bit.

The missus thought I was mad.

Welcome to the land of BIAB, I am sure King PP will be along quite shortly, to welcome you personally.

I hopeth the ale is both stout and hearty
Last edited by Yettiman on 23 Mar 2014, 01:43, edited 1 time in total.
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Post #5 made 6 years ago
Many thanks, kind Yettiman. King Pistol Patch (may the sun shine eternally on his loins and his toast always land butter side up) hast already welcomed and helped me; howevereth, I doth objecteth to him crowning me a knight - I cannot claimeth that honour, until I have at least popped my BIAB cherry. Alsoeth, I dost object to being called an idiot - if I did not holdeth him in such high regard, it wouldst be broadswords at dawn. Watcheth out for 'The Chronicles of Skink Part 2 - the Quest for Excellus', coming to a deranged mind near you soon.

Post #6 made 6 years ago
The Chronicles of Skink, Son of Skunk, Part 2 - The Search for Excellus.

Greetings, Brothers of the Closely Woven Fabric; the time hast come to tell you more of the trials and tribulations of Skink, son of Skunk. I feel compelled to tell you more of his journeys, since at least two of the brethren here are still reading this drivel – I canst only assume they need to get out more.

When we left our brave, intrepid and arseless hero, he was climbing the lofty steps that didst lead into the inner sanctum of Castle BIAB, confident that he wouldst be admitted – but no! He wast met at the top of said steps by the all-powerful King Pistol Patch (may the sun eternally shine on his loins and his toast always land butter side up), who raised a forbidding and malt-stained hand.

'Halt, brave sirrah!' didst the King say, 'I fear I cannot admit you.'

Skink, son of Skunk, didst wring his hands and gnash his eight teeth. 'But why, my good King,' he didst say. 'What have I done that forbiddeth me?'

'It is not what thou hast done, arseless one,' didst the King say, 'But what thou hast failed to do. When thou didst sendeth word to me that you wished to be admitted to our honourable guild of the Closely Woven Fabric, you failed to bring me an Excellus – without this, your words meanest nothing to me. They are as meaningless as the chatterings of a monkey, or the promises of a politician.'

'Aiee!' didst Skink, son of Skunk, say. 'And what, O great King, is this Excellus?'

'It is a thing,' didst the King reply.

'And what does this...thing look like?' asketh the arseless one.

'It dost look like nothing, because it dost not truly exist.'

'Riiight...,' sayeth Skink slowly, and turned away; hadst the King been sniffing too many of the powerful, mind-bending hops that the twelve-toed nuns of Delirium grewest on the fabled Isle of Cocainicum?

It was clear that the interview with the King was at an end, and Skink left with a heavy heart. For eight days he didst wallow in his misery, drinking in lowly taverns and consorting with lowly women – he didst even do his back in, spending all that time being lowly. At one stage, he even didst consider travelling to the twin towers of Castle Beerkit, where the hermaphroditic brother-lovers Baron Cooper and Baroness Woodforde hadst often offered our arseless hero refuge.

But then, on the ninth day, he did lifteth himself from his lethargy, and set out to find this fabled Excellus. He didst travel far and wide, through deserts and forests, across rivers and oceans, covering every inch of the Northern, Southern, Eastern and Western Realms, and even the one in the middle that no-one had ever thought up a catchy name for. On his journeys, he wast joined by a swarthy, foul-mouthed and acne-ridden mercenary called Captain Ludd, who promised to help him, as long as it didst not entail getting involved 'In any of that tecchy crap.'

And then, it didst come to pass, after two years of drought, famine, and avoidingeth getting splattered by the viscous goo that didst propel through the air when Captain Ludd wast popping his zits, our intrepid (?) hero didst come to a wide, arid valley, where impossibly handsome peasants and wenches didst ride top-of-the-range horses, kept strange coiffured pets called labradoodles, and referred to a wench called Anna List, whomst they all seemed to own. And the name of this valley wast Silly Kon, and it wast controlled by an evil overlord called Bilious Gatesicus.

It didst take two months to be granted an audience with the corrupt and powerful overlord, but it wast to be in vain. Skink, son of Skunk, didst humble himself before the great man, and didst ask him if he could tell him where to find the Excellus that he didst quest for.

'Ah, yes,' didst say the overlord, 'I can helpeth you with that. Getteth your people to talk to my people, and when the correct money hath changed hands, I am sure we can do business.'

'Aiee' cried Skink, 'How can this be, Lord Bilious? How canst thou ask me for money? I am Skink, son of Skunk, renowned throughout the Four Realms, and also the one that no-one hast ever thought up a catchy name for, as not having an arse in my trousers!'

'I do not care about the state of your trousers!' thundered the evil overlord. 'I am like all of the inhabitants of this arid valley – I care only for money, and making more of it, and my top-of-the-range horse, and my Labradoodle, and my Anna List!'

'Who is this wench?' Skink didst cry. 'How can you all own her?'

'What are you talking about?' Lord Bilious didst cry.

(At this point, Captain Ludd, who hadst been looking on quietly, didst cry 'I cannot be dealing with this shite!', and didst run away into the night. He later became famous in both the Western and Northern Realms for inventing a counting machine called the Luddite Abacus, and wast listed on the Western And Northern Commodities Index. You work out the acronym).

And so, Skink was forced to leave empty handed and alone. He continued his travels, which led him first to search out a wench that he had beenst told about called Princess Libre. She, too, wast to prove a blind alley, but an interesting one.

'Ah, handsome sirrah,' she didst say, 'I cannot helpeth you with your quest for the Excellus. But, pray, why dost thou not tarry for a while?'

And, forsooth, Skink didst tarry with her – four times a night, for three days. After all, what red-blooded man couldst resist the attentions of a pretty Princess when she spreads her sheets for him?

Having left her behind (and, yea, her front as well), Skink didst next search out the legendary Sir Bobbrews; said Knight had once been King Pistol Patch's trusted advisor, until he had tried to set up The Holy Guild of the Sacred Tap, which hadst led to him being exiled from the Royal Household. Skink didst find him in a shabby hovel on the edge of Northern Realm, which he didst describe as his Garage.

'My God, buddy,' didst say the venerable Knight, 'Don't be fussin' yourself with this Excellus crap. Pistol Patch ist a charlatan, and a megalomaniac! It's all a bucket of horse shite! Make it up as you go along, buddy. Watch!'

The venerable Knight didst then proceed to perform a crazy dance over his bubbling cauldron, throwing in a handful of this and a handful of that, with no regard for weights or measures, while pirouetting like a demented ballerina. It wast not, it has to be said, a pretty sight.

And, so, didst Skink, son of Skunk, continue on his futile quest.

But then, just when he was about to give up – his trousers were now not just arseless, but practically back-of-the-thigh-less, and the wind whistling round his meat and two veg was almost unbearable – he came upon a strange monk named Des Carty, in the mountains that separated the other Realms from the one without a catchy name.

'What troubles you, my son?' said the monk, which troubled Skink – he hadst always thought his father wast a chartered accountant with a passion for dragon-spotting. Something about the monk intrigued him, however, and he told him about his quest.

'Ah, you poor child,' didst say the monk, which also troubled Skink – as far as he couldst remember, he was forty seven. 'The Excellus is not a thing thou canst find in a desert, or a forest, or even in a valley full of souped-up horses and Anna Lists.'

'Aiee,' said Skink, 'So there is more than one Anna List?'

'What?'

'Nothing.'

The monk didst frown, but then continued. 'No, the Excellus is within thee – search your inner files, and thee willst find what thou is looking for.'

It wast then Skink's turn to frown. 'That dost sound like philosophical mumbo-jumbo to me. Next thing, thou will be telling me I think, therefore I am.'

With that, the monk didst jump into the air, and cry 'You reek – ah!', which caused Skink to sniff under his arm; it hadst been a while since he hadst had a bath. The monk, meanwhile, was running around in circles, shouting 'Yes! Yes! That is the answer! At last, I have the answer to the meaning of life!'

But then, to Skink's surprise, the monk didst stop, and scratcheth the bald patch on top of his head. 'Whoa, holdeth on,' he didst say, 'It can't be as simple as that. I don't think...'

And, promptly, he didst disappear.

Skink didst search high and low and in the middle for the monk, but he could not be found. So he didst return to Castle BIAB, a long journey of deepest deprivation across mountains, plains and boggy bogs, surviving only on the droppings of the much-maligned BigMac bird, which didst causeth him a severe dose of acne and Dellius Bellius, which is not a pretty sight when one hasn't an arse in one's trousers. And, when he didst ascend the long, twisting steps leading to the inner sanctum (which was a painful experience with a rash on your bum), he was met by the venerable King (may the...yeah, you know the rest).

'Greetings, brave Skink,' didst the King say, 'Have you, pray tell...cor, what's that bloody smell?'

'It is nothing, oh great one,' Skink didst say. 'I have found the Excellus – it was inside me all the time!'

And the King didst smile. 'Well done, brave Skink – you have solved one of life's great mysteries, and you mayest proceed to the next stage. Thou can maketh your first brew. But have a bloody shower first.'

FOOTNOTE – For anyone still reading this rubbish, maybe I should give a little bit of background (which is a bit like putting on a condom after having sex, but there you go). When I originally submitted my file for an ESB, it wasn't in xls format, for which PP rapped my knuckles (in the nicest possible way, of course). Try as I might, I couldn't get Microsoft Word to work, and spent many windswept knights (oops, sorry, nights) burning effigies of Bill Gates on lonely mountainsides. Eventually, however, I found an old file in xls format, which I wiped clean and started again, so now we're finally ready to go. And I'd also like to point out that no mind-bending drugs were consumed whilst composing this utter horse dung (only large quantities of tea, home made wine – made admittedly, from some strange-coloured mushrooms that I found growing on the carcase of a small rabbit – and nicotine) – it actually just flows out of me, a bit like a certain brown substance that our hero was afflicted with.

And if you're wondering why Number 7 didn't join Skink on his legendary quest, he had to bring his wife to see the mother in law in Bognor Regis.

Post #7 made 6 years ago
Skink son of Skunk, this is pure gold!!! :champ:

I have to sign up here so I don't miss the next instalment. Will the King bestow upon Skink the secret potion for eternal happiness? Will Skink find a suitable cauldron to brew his potion? Will the wicked witch cast a spell over our fearless Skink?

So many possibilities and I can't wait! :lol:
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Post #9 made 6 years ago
Sir Skink, I was holding court with goodfellow chiller this afternoon and, unprompted, he spoketh on how much joy the chronicles bestoweth on him and how cleverly your quill floweth. It has pleaseth the King greatly to see you now wearing dark green robes in honour of your steadfast service to the kingdom and such spreading of said happiness.

Well done Sir Skink!

I have summoned Sir BobBrews to come to court by sundown (somewhere) and give reason for his treasonous proclamations. If the reason fails to satiate the king, We will strip him of the closely woven fabric and cast him into the realm of court jester, a realm where he firmly belongs.

:evil:
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Post #10 made 6 years ago
Sir Skink,

I am at a loss of words. Maybe I can't find the right words because Sir Skink has used them all up? All of that verbiage and I am only a Sir? Even the lowly scurvy at McDonald's calls me sir! I take offense as I am at least a Prince? A Prince of BIAB? As I am of Polish decent. I should be a "PrinceofPoles"? However, As most here know already. I have no principles at all! :lol:
Last edited by BobBrews on 23 Mar 2014, 21:58, edited 1 time in total.
tap 1 Raspberry wine
tap 2 Bourbon Barrel Porter
tap 3 Czech Pilsner
tap 4 Triple IPA 11% ABV

Pipeline: Mulled Cider 10% ABV

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Post #11 made 6 years ago
Sir Bob, think thyself lucky thou art still a knight, after thy treacherous and treasonous actions regarding the Brotherhood of the Sacred Tap...if it were uppeth (?) to me, I wouldst strip you further, but Ye Olde Admin have refused this, for fear of frightening little children (thy might noteth here that I am suckingeth up to the powers that be - it is this new green robe. It ain't half keeping my bare arse warm).

And, good (?) sire, thou hast me confused - you are of Polish descent? Dost this mean thou wast spawned by polish? And you wish to be prince of Poles? Is this some exotic land that I have not visited, far beyond the realms?

AHA! Now I doth understand. I still remembereth, with many a shudder, how thee danced around thy cauldron, and thee are Prince of the Poles...now I dost have an image of the treacherous knight in a thong, cavorting aroundeth a phallic symbol in a smoky tavern. Gadzooks, bringeth me a darkened room quickly.

Post #13 made 6 years ago
Boys, this is very very amusing. And it helped me pass the time on the train to work this morning.
Short train ride, you might ask? Well yes, that too. But this was quite a read and as English is my second language, Olde English is my second language once removed.
Cube:
fermenter: Sourdough Spelt Ale, Classic Lambic, Oud Brune, Barrel Aged Belgian Dubbel
Kegs: Bob's Black IPA, Blanc Blond, Soda...
to be brewed:

Post #14 made 6 years ago
Skink wrote:I still remembereth, with many a shudder, how thee danced around thy cauldron, and thee are Prince of the Poles...
A pole dancer?
joshua wrote:Bob, use these tae reply tae Skink. http://www.whoohoo.co.uk/scottish-translator.asp" onclick="window.open(this.href);return false;
Sir Linksalot (aka joshua of the bold typeface) returneth after many days in absentia. What wealth from his travels will he have brought the kingdom?
shibolet wrote:Olde English is my second language once removed.
Lord shibolet,

As always, your missives from afar are received with the greatest of humility.

Shabbat Shalom, your servant,
King PistolPatch

Please direct all replies to the Royal Secretary, Sir skink. He's much better on the correspondence ;).
Last edited by PistolPatch on 24 Mar 2014, 15:26, edited 1 time in total.
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Post #15 made 6 years ago
PistolPatch wrote: King PistolPatch
you're really digging this king business, huh ;)
Last edited by shibolet on 24 Mar 2014, 15:54, edited 1 time in total.
Cube:
fermenter: Sourdough Spelt Ale, Classic Lambic, Oud Brune, Barrel Aged Belgian Dubbel
Kegs: Bob's Black IPA, Blanc Blond, Soda...
to be brewed:

Post #17 made 6 years ago
PistolPatch wrote: and how cleverly your quill floweth.:
Forsooth, this is due to me being half-Irish - the blood of Joyce, Yeats and Behan doth run in my blood. But then, the female side of my family were always a promiscuous lot.
Last edited by Skink on 24 Mar 2014, 17:17, edited 1 time in total.

Post #18 made 6 years ago
A pole dancer?
Yea, good King, that is very the joke I was trying to make in the next paragraph. Obviously, I wast too subtle, or not subtle enough. :whistle:
Last edited by Skink on 24 Mar 2014, 17:20, edited 1 time in total.

Post #19 made 5 years ago
Aiee, over 500 views? Skink, son of Skunk, of the arseless trousers, dost not know whether to be flattered, honoured, or just amazed that so many have readeth this drivel! But, just in case my adoring public (?) thinketh that Skink hath disappeared uppeth his own bum, do not be dismayed...Skink and his companion Number 7 of the Not Inconsiderable Bottom have been busy, acquiring the necessaries to completeth our quest. Comingeth shortly... 'The Third Chronicles Of Skink - The Tale of Wicked Cauldron of the Other Halfeth, the Flatulent Dragon and the Wench That Doth Weigh in at Nineteen Stone'...be there, or cut your hair.

Post #20 made 5 years ago
Skink wrote:But, just in case my adoring public (?) thinketh that Skink hath disappeared uppeth his own bum...
"Gone but not up your bottom," I think the saying is? Hold on, maybe it's, "forgotten"? I can't remember :scratch:. (I'm scratching my head btw, not my bottom :evil:).

I don't think any of us have forgotten you Skink. In fact the king nearly sent a team of riders (writers?) to summon you back to court before realising you would only be a few drinks away. Good stuff :peace:.
Last edited by PistolPatch on 08 Jun 2014, 21:40, edited 1 time in total.
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Post #21 made 5 years ago
Skink son of Skunk... What has happenth to the good Knight, Sir BobBrews??? Has King PP gotten ahold of his trousers ? :whistle: :whistle: ,
What can be happening in the outer realm? What will become of our fearless (and arseless ) hero???
Should we tune in at the same Skinktime and same Skinkchannel???
J
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