The Session #57: Beery Confessions

I have no beery secrets.


A combination of bloghorrea and louche insouciance hads led to my crusty bloomers being aired regularly in public since I started this rattlebag.

Let's recap.

I once drank Shipstone's Mild until I was sick. Albeit it only took me one pint. And I had been chewing a hedge beforehand. And that's not a euphamism.

Sat outside a horrendously-expensive Brugge cafe, I once poured the dregs of seven elegantly presented Belgian beers into a glass, mixed it together with my finger and drank the resultant sludge for a bet.

Despite assisting on several brewdays, I spent the best part of a year nodding along when conversation turned to attenuation even though I hadn't got a damn clue as to what the term actually meant.

I have been known to drink Orval straight from the bottle. In front of Orval's commercial director.

I drink Stella.


And that's it.


Well, almost.

When you spend significant time with brewers, publicans, writers and rakes, you get to know where the bodies are buried. You get to watch those whom you respect and trust make absolute drunken tits of themselves. The tales a toper could tell... and the tales that could be told by others of this toper.

So, schhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.....


"Secrets, secrets, secrets are for keeping, keeping, keeping
And if you tell them, they lose their meaning"



This month's Session is hosted by Steve Lamond at Beer's I've Known