Driftwood Spars Bolster’s Blood (500ml, 5.0% ABV)

Parental advisory: contains scenes of dismemberment and terrible attempts at Cornish dialect.

Bolster the giant had teBolster bLoodrrorised the town of St Agnes too long. On his last rampage he had destroyed the town’s only pub. The Tregellas brothers – Gerren, the fisherman; and Perran, the bottlemaker – decided enough was enough.

At night, while the townsfolk were cowering in their homes, they strung one of Gerren’s fishing nets across the high street and waited.

It wasn’t long before the thud of gargantuan footsteps heralded Bolster’s approach. From around the side of the church, the giant came roaring up the road, a half-eaten sheep in one hand. He was about to turn off down a side street, so the brothers burst from concealment and taunted him.

‘Over ‘ere, you duffer!’ said Gerren.

‘Your mother was a medium sized hillock!’ said Perran.

Bolster lurched towards them, tangled his feet in the net and came crashing down onto the cobbles with a bellow of fury and pain.

The brothers grabbed hold of the two-man saw they had borrowed from the forester and set to work. After a frenzy of pushing and pulling it was all over – the giant’s head was severed. Gerren and Perran, panting and sweating, were ankle deep in gore.

‘That weren’t as difficult as I thought,’ said Gerren.

‘How’re we going to clean up this mess, though?’ said Perran.

‘Butcher’ll be up in a few hours.’


Gerren dipped a finger into the giant’s jet black blood, licked it and looked thoughtful.

‘What’re you doing, you noggle-head?’ Perran said.

‘Wow, that’s thick. Tastes a bit like porter, but sort of richer and fruitier and a bit treacly. In fact, it’s fair ansum. It’s halfway to being wine.’

Perran also dipped a finger and tasted the giant’s blood. ‘I’ll get some bottles.’

Written by Richard Salsbury


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