It’s ‘morning all’ for the last time I’m afraid. By my calculations we’ve only got beer or brandy left, so I’ll think we’ll go for beer.
I’m a bitter man myself. The perfect pub drink, it has a pleasingly contemplative length to it. It’s all things to all men: a drink to brood over, to laugh over, to get drunk on, though I wouldn’t recommend the latter as it entails a large amount of liquid sloshing around the stomach.
At school we drank it for two reasons: bitter was a “man’s drink” and, more importantly, it was cheap. Prices have risen, but to this day I can’t stand lager: a watery, uriney, fizzy nothing that’s conducive to burping. The odd ‘silver bullet’ with a takeaway pizza in front of the television is fine, but that’s very much a compromise to student living, an acceptance and homage to the lad’s night in.
A lot of people find it hard to tell when bitter goes off, and I find that actually a surprising amount of beer is kept badly. If it tastes vinegary or wrong in any sense, trust your judgment and send it back. Even if the barman disagrees, he’ll probably do the decent thing and give you a different pint.
One last thing. The Intoxificated Awards. Best pub (and most charismatic landlord) goes to the Rose and Crown on North Parade. The Turf gets an honorary mention – perhaps we could give it Best Smoking Area or Best Pub to Celebrate in. Most Attractive Pub goes to the Bear on Blue Boar Street, and Best Bruiser goes to the Red Lion on Gloucester Green, due to it’s proximity to Ladbrookes and 9am opening time. Top Gastro Pub goes to the Black Boy up in Headington, and the Cherwell Cheap and Cheerful Award to the Three Goats Heads.
It ales me to say this, but that’s the end. I know some of you may find it dispiriting, but in the grand scheme of things, it’s small beer. Sayanora folks, and have a good vac.
