With Coopers announcing that their newborn Botanic Ale is available for a strictly limited time, the following commentary is both festive proclamation and premature eulogy.

However, the phrase, ‘limited time’ makes me think of the Rolling Stones and how more than once Mick asserted, ‘I’d rather be dead than singing ‘Satisfaction’ when I’m forty-five.’ Both Coopers’ XPA and Session Ale (which transmogrified into Pacific/Specific Pale Ale) were also declared momentary but are happily still happening.

Clamping my peepers on a can the pink, purple, olive, and red markings conjure a nouveau psych-rock aesthetic. It’s visually reminiscent of the swirling guitars on Tame Impala’s Innerspeaker album and this is encouraging. Beer and music can pair well.

Having gathered ingredients to make a beef curry in the slow cooker (crock pot is too 1970’s a term) I swung past the Holdy to collect my debut four-pack of Botanic Ale cans. Home, I slid them into the garage beer fridge where, aside from some understandably abandoned lolly water, they were among friends.

With its deliberate Adelaide evocations, I pondered the name Botanic. Was it named for the much-loved public gardens or the adjacent pub I often haunted on Monday nights while at uni?

To stay open late in those heady, 1980’s times, The Bot was required to serve the punters a meal so at the prescribed hour we were obligated to queue, grab a paper plate, and witness a sullen worker slop out spaghetti Bolognese or, most often, an inferior replica. It was that or go home. On occasion I even saw people eat it. Salad days, indeed.

Back to the future and just down Chief Street in Brompton sits the elegantly renovated Brickmakers Arms. Their pristine beer garden recently provided some colleagues and me a celebratory context to acknowledge a curricular writing milestone. As we all know kegged beer is king so noting Botanic Ale on tap, I waved my phone at the dinging debit box and marched outside with a frosty tumbler.

Safely on my bum with cup in claw I considered the (late) London restaurant critic Victor Lewis-Smith and his frequent use of this question in his splendid reviews: what made me pleased?

Here goes. I remember a hot Barossa afternoon when old mate Holmsey told me of a now long-forgotten European ale that, ‘wasn’t sessionable.’ I think this may be true of Botanic Ale too.

In the glass it has a brooding yet bronzed presence, and this foreshadows its hefty 5.8% engine. Turning the key, the pint was zesty and gripping, and possessed an apt sense of occasion while also being fun. It provided citrus/tropical aromatics, all in the context of presenting as a bold beer and not just a cold beer. And it does suggest a nouveau psych-rock aesthetic, so I pronounce another Coopers triumph. It’s highly worthy of a gargle.

Snare a slab if you can and consume with slow-cooked vindaloo and Tame Impala. Or at a pinch, sloppy spag bog just before midnight.