Midweek Drinking #3: You! Me! Drinking!

Wednesday 4th December 2013. It’s 6.30pm. I stumble into City Arms to meet the legend that is Mark Foley. We’re also joined by Loz who works at the Manic Street Preachers’ studio. It’s rock ‘n’ roll all the way this evening.

Loz looked forward to his regular prison visits from Foley.

Loz looked forward to his regular prison visits from Foley. (Photo attributed to Matt Jarrett)

I’m hungry so go for a Dark Star Original. It fails the smell test due to its lack of smell but tastes like gravy. In a good way. It’s meaty but smooth.

Hopcraft Vanoffi Porter is fucking mental. It smells of Kinder Surprise and tastes of waking up the morning after a heavy night that ended with all ill advised food shopping trip to the Spar. The flavour of everything you bought in said convenience store is now circling your mouth. But mainly bananas and mash.

The picture nails this really. (Photo attributed to Matt Jarrett)

The picture nails this really. (Photo attributed to Matt Jarrett)

We’re now joined by my friend Lily and Ashli from Spillers. This is turning into a party.

Third stout. Milk Stout. Doesn’t taste of milk. Smells of chocolatey coffee again. Tastes lumpy. I may have had too much stout.

Too. Much. Stout. Now. (Photo attributed to Matt Jarrett)

Too. Much. Stout. Now. (Photo attributed to Matt Jarrett)

The cavalry arrive in the shape of 3 members of formally twee but now all grown up indie band, Los Campesinos! Neil moved from Cardiff to London before Urban Tap House opened so is yet to experience it. I’m halfway through a Hit And Run which isn’t as instantly violent and bloody as the name suggests. It has the odour of chain pub lemon piss biscuits and tastes of finishing third in a sports day obstacle race.

Neil, Rob and Matt get beers but Neil is jumping up and down excitedly like a child on Christmas morning. We drink up and go to Tap House. I go for the Saison Bouffant. Fizzy. Smells of a Christmas starter menu. Tastes a little bit of Lilt which really disturbs me. I want my toes to be enveloped in sand.

Neil orders half a pint of stout and is immediately bullied by me and Lily for becoming a big London hipster. 

Sophie models the roaring mouse beer thing. (Photo attributed to Matt Jarrett)

Sophie models the roaring mouse beer thing. (Photo attributed to Matt Jarrett)

Animal Roar smells of a newly varnished Welsh dresser. Tastes 14% better than everything else that tastes the almost same as this.

Matt and Loz have departed but our band of musical drinkers are still of decent numbers. It feels a bit like the article in the Christmas NME when band members clatter around Camden and end up falling out of the Good Mixer with liver disease brought on by trying to be cooler that the drummer from the Warm Jets.

Thornbridge Versa. Weiss beer.  Whiff of Opal Fruits, tastes of ‘oh christ, why have I ordered this at 11.30pm’. That would’ve been relevant if that was the last beer I bought. It wasn’t, Tap House is open until 1. Or 2. Or 3. It’s hard to remember.

Cow. Looks happy. As does Sophie the barmaid. (Photo attributed to Matt Jarrett)

Cow. Looks happy. As does Sophie the barmaid. (Photo attributed to Matt Jarrett)

Lily is trying to leave and wants a half, sadly her earlier bullying of Neil means she ends up ordering a pint. I go for Animal Moo. I’ve only ordered it because the cow looks sort of friendly. It’s alright, tastes of smooth, velvety stuff. The pump crown raised expectations to an unrealistic level.

No idea. Madness in a glass.

No idea. Madness in a glass. (Photo attributed to Matt Jarrett)

Finally, because I’ve tried everything else, I go for Camden Gentleman’s Wit. I was warned earlier in the evening not to have this because it tasted mad. It’s now the next day though so fuck it. It’s brewed with lemon and bergamot. I don’t even know what bergamot is. I barely know what lemon is at this point. It’s fruity. Really shitting fruity. Like someone has crashed a fruit bowl into my face. At a fruit party. It took me ages to drink. I still have no idea if I liked it.

Everyone has gone home. I leave, a broken man.

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