Adrian Tierney-Jones
Beer Travels with Adrian Tierney-Jones
‘See you later mate, looking good, keep it up.’ With a thumbs up and a rat-a-tat of ‘laters’, the man with a tan that spoke of either Tenerife or the local tanning parlour took his leave of his mate in the pub’s beer garden (actually a wooden patio but it was in the sun and…
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I’m not the greatest fan of summer especially the one that has just come to an end. Too hot, too clammy, too claustrophobic in the clamp of heat around the soul, too concentrated, a concertina of heat and humidity that made every day something to wade through as if it was a swamp. However, there…
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Early doors: it’s just gone midday and in the midst of the bustling centre of York there is only one place for me to go — a pub. So there I am outside the House of The Trembling Madness, a place I have heard and read about and whose name is also rather unique. From…
Read MoreBeer Travels with Adrian-Tierney-Jones
I made a note in my work diary the other day, reminding myself to start thinking about the latest column and oddly enough, spookily enough, Dr-Freud-is-in-the-house enough, I wrote down ‘think about beer outsider column’. What was I thinking about when I wrote down those words? Probably nothing was my initial reaction, but when I…
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There it is, your pride and joy, a well-oiled, two-wheeled monstrosity of a motor-bike. It is a Moto Guzzi perhaps, a Harley if that is your preference, or maybe a Triumph if you’re lucky. You get on it, both feet on the ground, push it off its stand, feel the light bounce of the suspension…
Read MoreBeer Travels on the page with Adrian Tierney-Jones
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…
Read More(Constrained) Beer Travels with Adrian Tierney-Jones
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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