Drinking with Scylla and Charybdis in Peterborough
It goes a little something like this.
Sit on a train full of stinking wet-dog tickers. That's running late. Again.
Wade across the kind of mud that you expect to see medieval soldiers buried in, arteries spurting.
Buy a beer. Sit by the bins near the stage. Wonder out loud why you ever bother coming to Peterborough beer festival.
Because the choice isn't go / don't go. The choice is; miserable journey, sit by the bins, don't get to drink the beer you wanted, get accosted by rabid ticker, wade through gloop, sit by stinking ticker on the train, go home.
Or;
miserable journey, sit by the bins, drink the beer you wanted, get accosted by rabid ticker, wade through gloop, sit by stinking ticker on the train, go home.
One year I experienced the strangest thing. Call it... fate, call it luck, call it karma. The trains ran on time and were clean. I got a seat at a table. Most of the beers were tasty. I caught a train home with a smile on my face.
But in the Venn diagram of Peterborough beer festival experiences of good times, good beer, good company, 2008 was an infinitesimally small cross-hatched patch.
Let it never be said, however, that this toper doesn't rise to the challenge.
If it doesn't piss it down, if the trains don't experience the wrong sort of bull semen on the line, if I don't the liver bored out of my by some bastard ticker who recognises me and wants to know why I have a problem with corduroy, then...
... I will be at the Peterborough CAMRA beer festival this year.
Why?
For Blue Monkey and Brewsters and Fuller's and Hopshackle and Magic Rock and Northcote and Oakham and Summer Wine and Thornbridge and everything else that a cursory glance at the beer list missed.
It's possibly the best cask beer offering at a CAMRA fest apart from Nottingham. And I want to be front and centre for it.
Besdies, there's always Cantillon, Boon, Rochefort and Orval on standby...
Sit on a train full of stinking wet-dog tickers. That's running late. Again.
Wade across the kind of mud that you expect to see medieval soldiers buried in, arteries spurting.
Buy a beer. Sit by the bins near the stage. Wonder out loud why you ever bother coming to Peterborough beer festival.
Because the choice isn't go / don't go. The choice is; miserable journey, sit by the bins, don't get to drink the beer you wanted, get accosted by rabid ticker, wade through gloop, sit by stinking ticker on the train, go home.
Or;
miserable journey, sit by the bins, drink the beer you wanted, get accosted by rabid ticker, wade through gloop, sit by stinking ticker on the train, go home.
One year I experienced the strangest thing. Call it... fate, call it luck, call it karma. The trains ran on time and were clean. I got a seat at a table. Most of the beers were tasty. I caught a train home with a smile on my face.
But in the Venn diagram of Peterborough beer festival experiences of good times, good beer, good company, 2008 was an infinitesimally small cross-hatched patch.
Let it never be said, however, that this toper doesn't rise to the challenge.
If it doesn't piss it down, if the trains don't experience the wrong sort of bull semen on the line, if I don't the liver bored out of my by some bastard ticker who recognises me and wants to know why I have a problem with corduroy, then...
... I will be at the Peterborough CAMRA beer festival this year.
Why?
For Blue Monkey and Brewsters and Fuller's and Hopshackle and Magic Rock and Northcote and Oakham and Summer Wine and Thornbridge and everything else that a cursory glance at the beer list missed.
It's possibly the best cask beer offering at a CAMRA fest apart from Nottingham. And I want to be front and centre for it.
Besdies, there's always Cantillon, Boon, Rochefort and Orval on standby...
I will be there for trade day.
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