The lapse in our week was a romantic evening just for two of us. Everyone knows a week without romance can be a dull week. As a general practice, Gracious Mistress of Parsonage and Yours Truly try to set aside some time, be it ever so small, for some level of romantic interlude. There are time, however, when due to a demanding schedule a week will slip through our mutual intention.

Immediately we set out to clear our schedule, a Herculean task to be sure, and set aside Thursday evening as our romantic hiatus at parsonage. Because I had a few days notice, I decided to surprise Gracious Mistress of Parsonage with her favorite ice cream cake.

Late Thursday afternoon I picked up ice cream cake specially decorated for occasion. I was looking forward to a special, relaxing evening at parsonage.

Just as I drove out of bakery parking lot, my cell phone rang. My wife informed me that Philip had been rushed to hospital emergency room, she had no further details. I looked at my watch and calculated that it would take 15 minutes to drive to hospital, 10 minutes with Philip and another 15 minutes to return home. It was 4:45 and I could be home before 6:00.

Hanging up phone, I turned my car toward hospital. Driving out of parking lot, I had a nagging feeling I was forgetting something. I mentally reviewed my “to-do-list” and could not find a single omission. And yet, there was something I should be doing but for life of me, I could not put my finger on it. Pulling into hospital parking lot, I put that nagging thought out of my head and focused on more important work lying before me.

When I got to hospital, I went straight to ER and inquired about Philip.

“Yes, Philip,” nurse quipped, “is in room 15.”

Knowing drill, I went to room 15 and to my dismay, it was empty.

“Oh, Philip,” another nurse said “has been sent up to room 318.”

I threw a “thank you, ma’m” at her and headed for elevator.

A PINT OF YOUR BEST "BUGBEAR" PLEASE

-- Toorah For Those Tittilating Tag-Names that Come With Your Favorite Grog!--

Fascinated as I am with names, I happened upon an article in our thrice-weekly newspaper devoted to tempting tastebuds of tipplers at a local "Beerfest".

It seems that our cozy castle (has more than a few educated swillers from nearby colleges and universities, not to mention a slew of seabees (from naval base next door) who can't get enough of those special suds.

In case you thought beer is just beer, think again. There’s mass-produced malt variety (aka bottled grog) for those who need a bold “brand-name” beer to convince them they’re part of a happy herd of flatulating buffalo, frenzied sharks or frisky penguins. Then there’s small-batch, cottage micro-brew for young, discerning crop of brown-nosing, social-climbing iconoclasts who really don’t give a sweet tweet about plebes. And last but not least, there are those who pride themselves in being able to show-off their penny-pinching, skinflint, tightwad habits courtesy of local u-brew shops.

Not being a true-blue beer-belly, I must admit I haven’t foggiest idea of what to look for in a beer other than name. And being a rather elegant, eccentric and equable person of good breeding (and not surpisingly, easily amused), I find solace in all strong and single-minded spirits -- especially tall, dark and handsome ones.

Anything boisterous and bubbly will attract my attention as will any marvelous moniker that’s a tad titillating, saucily spunky or possibly just a dandy draught.

So, I thought I would share with you a few of my favorite hop handles (on off chance that you too might be as delighted as I was to see them). Besides "Moosehead" (for merry munchkin in all of us) , there are oodles of other laugh-out-loud tag-names to enjoy such as: