The Friday before Christmas. It is until everyone goes to the rugby. I head to the Rummer. I play safe with an HPA Wye Valley. I really like this but it’s the sort of beer you’d drink all night, not one that will win any competitions.
Pete recommends the Castle Rock Snowhite. Pete has been out since midday, it’s now about 7pm. Bit of vanilla. No scent of dwarves. Golden booze.
Last one before moving on. Everards Tiger. Bit more brown. Tasty, but like the HPA, a bit of a session beer. Pete is trying to remember a guy’s name that he was introduced to too many hours ago. “I’m really good with names but I have a terrible face” explains our hero. Ignoring the fact he can’t put together sentences, we head to the next pub.
Obviously that next pub is Tap House. Magic Rock High Wire. Y’know nice and hoppy and shit. Everything so far is nice but lacking a bit of oomph.
I ask the barmaid for suggestions. She bullies me. I like this approach, she should work in my record shop.
Aecht Gehlenterla Eiche Dopplebock. Really smokey, tastes of burning sticks. Everyone else thinks it tastes of Frazzles. They’re wrong. It’s more bush fire than meat.
Wild Brewery SoleRa. I always think this tastes of cinnamon. It might not be. It probably smells like Nigella Lawson’s kitchen. It tastes a bit of malt loaf. Without the butter.
Put It In Your Pipe. Sian has bought this. She’s gone for a fag and thinks I’ll slag it off. It’s really nice. Smokey without being twatty about it. Definitely not bacon. I’m from Cwmbran, I know this smell, it’s ‘kids nearly burning down mountain in a heatwave’. But with a hint of ‘Old man pub in the middle of nowhere with a log fire’. Obviously. There might be a disused fruit machine.
90 Shilling Ale. My taste buds had been destroyed by fire. This was nice but everything tasted of arson at this point.