This week's beer made The Slayer ponder those things we keep purely for sentimental value. Waxing nostalgic about past events is something uniquely human, and objects tend to trigger such pleasant memories. The Slayer doubts that when a dog trots by a fire hydrant he pauses to remember the first time he used one as urinal; a man might.

Sentimentality is something that tends to be gender specific. Women are much more likely to keep momentos and take pictures of life events than men. This appears to be something that inborn and not learned.

Proof of this difference between men and women can be found in the decor of a teenager's room. Adolescent girls generally adorn their living quarters with pictures of friends, momentos from school dances and that spoon that Aunt Dorothy brought back from her trip to St. Louis. Boys, on the other hand, in their pure obsession with sex (something that will haunt their thoughts the rest of their lives), hang up posters of scantily clad women draped over motorcycles or sports cars, the vehicular means to sex.

This trend continues to adulthood. Women will show their friends pictures, baby books and corsages, while men sit in the garage lamenting the loss of their prized '68 GTO. Though The Slayer's momentos are a bit different than most, he pretty much fits the male stereotype.

The only two things he has kept as reminders of his childhood are baseball cards and beer cans. The baseball cards, which have been saved many times from the certain doom of having unfeeling females throw them away, remind The Slayer just how conniving he was as a child. He can't look at his Roberto Clemente or Lyman Bostock cards without remembering how he talked his unsuspecting brother into trading them for a Jason Thompson and Ron LeFlore.

Of course, his sentimental attachment to beer cans need no explanation. Actually, it is his affinity to keep beer paraphernalia that started him thinking about nostalgia. After finishing this week's beer, Thomas Hardy's Ale, The Slayer put the bottle in a safe place under the sink; thinking The Brew-wife would never find it there. Much to his chagrin, a few hours later, he found the very same bottle sitting atop the kitchen garbage can. The Brew-wife used her overactive sense of cleanliness had discovered the eyesore vessel, which was tucked in the corner in plain view of the fabric softener, and had thrown it out. Fortunately, The Slayer found the bottle before it was sent to it's ultimate demise, the curb for trash pickup, and retrieved it from the other common rubbish.

While The Slayer is a great collector of beer vessels, the brew inside is immediately removed to prevent it from becoming to old for consumption. The Slayer must concede that on this one point August Busch is right; for the most part.

The fact that beer should not be kept for any length of time is probably one of the reasons it appeals more to men than women. Being rather unsentimental, males like the fact that they can get instant gratification with something young then throw it aside when their done with it and begin the process anew. When they're done, they can roll over and go to sleep.

Thomas Hardy's Ale debunks both August Busch's ad campaigns regarding the benefits of "fresh" beer and also goes against the male need for instant gratification. When The Slayer tasted of this barley wine, it was two years old. The brewery, Eldridge Pope and Co., was so proud of the beer's age that they had "BREWED IN 1996" printed on the brew's label in large red type. The Slayer was not quite sure what to make of this beer's age. Since nothing appeared to be floating in it, he decided to give this elderly brew a try.

The experience of drinking Thomas Hardy's Ale is one that he will remember all of his days. No pictures could do it justice. No knickknacks are needed as reminders. This memory is as indelibly burnt into The Slayer's gray matter as the first time he tasted of a hefeweiss.

Opening the beer and pouring it into his pint glass, The Slayer was met with quite an ordinary thin white head that had little retention. The first evidence of greatness came when The Slayer put the brew to the sun and witnessed it's colour. Thomas Hardy's hue was a deep, rich amber, like that you would find in the solid wood furniture in the lounge of gentlemenís club, absolutely breath taking.

Now thoroughly intrigued, The Slayer put the beer to his nose to discover whether the brew's aroma was as impressive as it's appearance. This very aromatic brew smelled of apples that had gone bad in the crisper. It's bouquet was sweet and ciderish, unlike any other brew The Slayer had sniffed. While this sensation was truly unique, The Slayer was not sure of its appeal.

The only way to clear up the mixed signals being sent out by Thomas Hardy's Ale was to taste it. As the first dram of ale moved about his mouth, The Slayer was nearly bowled over by the beer's exquisite flavor. The brew was sweet, complex and sensous. It's flavor was so wonderful that The Slayer did not want to swallow. When he overcame the urge to hold the beer in his mouth for eternity, he was met with the tingling and drying sensation brought about by the ale's high alcohol content. This along with the a slight hop herbal freshness cleansed the palate; preparing it for another orgasmic taste.

Thomas Hardy's Ale is too alcoholic to be sold in North Carolina. Even though it's actual content is not on the label, The Slayer could tell this by tasting the beer and by seeing that it formed legs on the side of his pint glass, much like you would find with a fine red wine. The Slayer procured this beer from Portland, Oregon's Belmont Station, the package store connected to the famous Horse Brass Saloon. You too can experience this beer by ordering it from Belmont Station. The easiest way to do so is by going to the Horse Brass site at: http://www.horsebrass.com and going to the Belmont Station page.

Thomas Hardy's Ale, like all other barley wines, is meant to be aged. The alcohol content keeps them from going bad and the years of storage helps to add complexity to the beer. As Mr. Hardy wrote about this ale in The Trumpet-Major, "It was the most beautiful colour that the eye of an artist in beer could desire; full in body, yet brisk as a volcano, piquant, yet without a twang; luminous as an autumn sunset."

And, you thought The Slayer was the only person to become nostalgic and mushy about a beer. Some things are worth a bit of sentimentality.