I note with some interest that it is only a week to go until the European arm of the 2011 Beer Bloggers Conference. I’m not a beer blogger – such a specialism doesn’t really interest me – but buying, drinking and talking about beer; in public or on twitter does make for a good hour or two well spent each week. What does interest me about the event, is that there is a section on the agenda for Subject Matter Experts (SMEs) to discuss the finer points of beer blogging – under the notion that there are dos and don’ts involved. The reason this interests me is that, as a blogger myself, I’d be wary of anyone suggesting that what I do is right or
Brewery Archive
At what point did my life become nothing more than a collection of labels or tags by which I am instantly recognised by? I don’t mean the simple police style IC1 Male. More the often, somewhat lazy and disparaging label that identifies me not as an individual, but as part of a wider network of people I barely have anything in common with? I understand being classified by my job title. It’s what I do for eight hours a day, five days a week. I also understand being referred to by my relationship choices – that of husband, married man or father of one – for I am all three. What I don’t understand, is when I am classified not by my actions, but more
We were somewhere around platform six when the beer began to take hold. I remember saying something like “that was some of the best beer I’ve ever tasted…” And then suddenly there was a loud roar of a diesel engine and the sky was leaden thanks to a late summer shower. The voice in my head was screaming “Why did we leave that pub?” Then it was quiet again. My companion was wearing a shirt with a hood to protect him from the rain, and the skinniest jeans imaginable. “My missus said she hoped I had a fun day out with my new boyfriend” he said. “Your boyfriend? “ No point in telling him he wasn’t my type. The poor bastard would find out soon