“CRIKEY!”, “What is it Austin?”, “I’VE LOST MY MOJO!”, “no you haven’t, it’s right there on the coffee table, now sit down and put your keys in the pot”.
How could he miss it? Mojo’s sleek, brown bottle provides the perfect platform for a swirling motif of purples, reds and greens to pronounce it’s logo. It’s groovy baby! And in the event that you’re temporarily blinded by a rogue fembot in an elaborate but hilarious assassination attempt, you could sniff it out. It’s fresh, citrusy aromas fill the room from the moment cap and bottle are separated. Separating this preservative union sounds a fizz that breathes “ooooh behave!”
It’s fruity, tropical and noticeably so, though it doesn’t overpower. This is still an ale, hops aplenty, and maintains a refreshing lightness throughout. Robinson’s have combined hops from New Zealand and the States to make this ale a superb transcontinental affair. It’s impressive, but then again Austin would argue that Burt Bacharach transcends all borders. As does swinging. Mojo is no different. All in all, you could drink it until you’ve projectiled guava all over the quintessentially British interior of your Shaguar. Basil’s not impressed but it’s just shagadelic, baby.