A blank page in front of me, inconsolable in its emptiness and hungry in its need for words. Not just any old words though, words that make sense and give meaning to the world I live in, in this case the world of beer through which I flow like a river on its way to…

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I first went to a beer festival when I was 20. It was in Cambridge and I was handed a half of Tiger bitter from Everard’s (I don’t know why I remember that). I took a couple of sips and left it. Around me, men, yes it was mainly men, whirled about in alcoholic contemplation,…

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What shall I write about? It has been a familiar refrain of mine during most of this unsettling, frustrating and bilious year. It has been a question that has sometimes been answered with memories of what now seems like those strange times when hopping on a train or a plane was as easy as drinking…

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