Life at the outer edge of the beer world can be odd. Being married to a beer writer, I dip in and out of conversations on cascade hops, bottom fermenting (or is it bottle fermenting) and who's doing what with old whiskey casks.
Some of it's interesting even for a complete non-afficionado. A lot of it sounds like the noise you get when the radio's gone weird. Blah blah cask conditioning blah blah it's not a proper blonde ale of course blah blah let's go for a curry.
When I accompany PB on his beerage trips, I get access to behind-the-scenes of all sorts of places. I go to bars I'd never usually bump into. Or fall out of. I get to drink some amazing new beers, some of which are delicious and some of which are decidedly not.
And when he's on book promotions / brewery visits / meetings of the secret guild of beer writers, yes really, I'm left to my own devices: making a mess in the kitchen, using the special knives I'm not supposed to touch because if I do they go blunt, having picnics in bed, seeing girlfriends, making stuff and having odd adventures that usually involve Captain and someone strange I've bumped into.
So this blog won't be just about beer, because after more than about 5 minutes on the subject I'm liable to fall asleep over the keyboard and get drool between the letters.
But I shall be on the lookout for My New Favourite Beer and will inadvertently be a casual observer in bars and breweries up and down the country.
I don't know my fruity top notes from my lingering bitter after-tastes, but I know if I like it and if I'd buy another one and whether I'd recommend it to my friends.
So there we have it. The sometimes lonely, often hungover account of life on the beer fringe.
And please for the love of god, buy his bloody book and stop his OCD checking of his ranking on Amazon. Really.