tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-68850772510534949442024-03-05T08:03:50.676+00:00The Beer WidowLife on the messy fringes of Beerdomlizvaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02334134462662109052noreply@blogger.comBlogger24125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6885077251053494944.post-61716853534323975212011-06-26T17:45:00.003+01:002011-06-29T16:18:55.636+01:00The Culture DodgeThe phenomenon whereby any holiday or long weekend we take has a huge overlap with beer and/or writing (see previous posts on Copenhagen, Essex, Blackpool, Rhyl and Prestatyn - several words you never want to see in a travel itinerary) now has a name. It's officially The Culture Dodge.<br />
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</div><div>It goes like this:</div><div><br />
</div><div>PB: We really need a holiday. And you really need a treat.</div><div>Me: [narrows eyes]</div><div>PB: How about I take you on a lovely break somewhere really lovely. With museums and stuff.</div><div>Me: Where?</div><div>PB: Hmm. How about some lovely sailing? </div><div>Me: Sailing? But I've never been sailing and I can't swim.</div><div>PB: But it'll be lovely. We can go to Helsinki and St Petersburg. They've got loads of museums and stuff.</div><div>Me: Is beer involved?</div><div>PB: Was that the doorbell?</div><div>Me: Is beer involved?</div><div>PB: Oh look, an eagle...</div><div>Me: [stomps off, googles 'Helsinki, St Petersburg, beer']. So this holiday might be The Great Baltic Adventure, retracing the journey of Imperial Russian Stout then?</div><div>PB: [thoughtfully] Hmm yes, something like that.</div><div>Me: Oh for fuck's sake alright then. But only if the boat has a bar and hammocks.</div><div><br />
</div><div>At this point, a quick quiz:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIIoYDOBcPMV3sStQwc0g7anWLKe-stU5g-EDffjyXlhbOK733TdHROkyjs56WcT09LKATW-V3HhkSq22f5oZ5rC_p9EgihAQ_j0ljMUVhEx5Fe6PzaQl4g450dGgeK-q-vfadCbG731VR/s1600/IMG_2486.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIIoYDOBcPMV3sStQwc0g7anWLKe-stU5g-EDffjyXlhbOK733TdHROkyjs56WcT09LKATW-V3HhkSq22f5oZ5rC_p9EgihAQ_j0ljMUVhEx5Fe6PzaQl4g450dGgeK-q-vfadCbG731VR/s320/IMG_2486.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><div><br />
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</div><div>Question One: Does this boat look as though it has a bar on it? a) Yes or b) Don't be ridiculous</div><div><br />
</div><div>Question Two: Does this boat look as though it has hammocks on it? a) Hmm yes isn't that a rather comfortable hammock just over there with a little table beside it perfect for putting your G&T on or b) Do I look like an idiot?</div><div><br />
</div><div>But listen to me and my moaning. Who needs a bar and hammocks when you can sleep on a shelf, share your living quarters and 2 small loos with 12 men, wear so many layers of clothing that you look like Tinky Winky, get dragged out of 'bed' every 4 hours to do another watch in the rain and listen to people banging on about beer all day? I'm just ungrateful, that's my problem.</div><div><br />
</div><div>The lowest point came at 4am (that's right, 4 A.M., the one that happens in the morning) on the second day, pulling damp oilskins on over my pyjamas and struggling not to vomit. I looked at PB with what was possibly the seed of hatred in my squinty little eyes and hissed "why have you done this to me?". Possibly not the best thing your wife can say whilst on a holiday you paid for, but still.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Once the sea calmed down, I got my sea-legs (which weren't any longer or more tanned than my other ones, I noticed), and grudgingly have to admit that I started to enjoy it. Rumours exist that I actually admitted I wanted to do more sailing. There's also photographic evidence of me thoroughly enjoying myself. See exhibit A below.<br />
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</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxM3Uagp2j3DtXgfYRwgSy3WHqe-6F-v3qePgjwCArUJJkS_g3imd9hLpZab9nHfmcWeaIx7KL-N99NvFeCM2oqtXaO0wcyl1k-0eE36BHHiDjEW5_mwrX8bCI3-NeTBvFqGHtOsfxmRza/s1600/IMG_2568.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxM3Uagp2j3DtXgfYRwgSy3WHqe-6F-v3qePgjwCArUJJkS_g3imd9hLpZab9nHfmcWeaIx7KL-N99NvFeCM2oqtXaO0wcyl1k-0eE36BHHiDjEW5_mwrX8bCI3-NeTBvFqGHtOsfxmRza/s320/IMG_2568.JPG" width="243" /></a>Exhibit A.</div><br />
</div><div>But it was the trip of a lifetime. We made some new friends, adopted a young Scottish distiller (not sure how delighted he is about the deal, but there you go), ate more custard creams than it's actually possible to do without causing serious health problems, visited Tallinn's only surviving Depeche Mode bar (there used to be 2 but one closed down, goddammit), laughed until we were nearly sick and managed to get through 2 weeks of high sea shenanigans without falling into the Baltic and dying. Which is always a bonus.</div><div><br />
Most importantly, I returned home A Moral Victor. When the BBC posted the <a href="http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-13748635">story of our trip on their website</a>, featured it on the Today programme, put it on BBC Breakfast and The World Service and called it an 'epic beer adventure', I'd won a small but significant moral victory.<br />
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</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">People, The Culture Dodge is official. Next time, I'm booking the holiday. Saudi Arabia is lovely in the Autumn, I've heard.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">For more information on a wonderful feat pulled together by the lovely Tim O'Rourke, <a href="http://www.wix.com/seanor/gba">do click here</a>.</div></div><div></div></div><div><br />
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</div></div>lizvaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02334134462662109052noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6885077251053494944.post-26847988719435224522010-10-05T20:25:00.001+01:002010-11-08T15:54:04.860+00:00The Morning Advertiser should have asked ME....<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2Ya2GOYKy-1c7wMlM3ro_ixIWFKazpc9iMgypEUBGZ_kDN7LwuFNRQkoPAC166x7G-MLkhyphenhyphen6NRxQCIEZ8WV8KPTiH9DGDBpP2HZVr-LOS_ZKsTpdPsoZoBBnc7HQJhi6uNm1orlFAOWjt/s1600/fingers2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="260" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2Ya2GOYKy-1c7wMlM3ro_ixIWFKazpc9iMgypEUBGZ_kDN7LwuFNRQkoPAC166x7G-MLkhyphenhyphen6NRxQCIEZ8WV8KPTiH9DGDBpP2HZVr-LOS_ZKsTpdPsoZoBBnc7HQJhi6uNm1orlFAOWjt/s400/fingers2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
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One of the many debates at Beer Towers is the Big Party Music Debate. Mr PBBB is self-appointed Important Pants Music Czar and by his own admission is an extreme music snob. <br />
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</div><div>Our debate goes something like this:</div><div><br />
<div>Me: I'm putting MY party mix on this time.</div><div>Mr PBBB: No you're not I've done a new one and it's really good.</div><div>Me: No it's not. It'll be all complicated and dischordant and people's ears will bleed.</div><div>Mr PBBB: No they won't.</div><div>Me: Is there any disco on it?</div><div>Mr PBBB: No.</div><div>Me: Are there any female singers on it?</div><div>Mr PBBB: Yes, Lisa Gerrard.</div><div>Me: She doesn't count. What about Abba? [watches the special spluttering and arm waving Mr PBBB reserves for any mention of Abba]</div><div>Me: What about Erasure? [at this point only dogs and bats can hear him]</div><div>Me: What about Mika? [This is purely for my own entertainment. Mika was actually devised by a focus group to specifically make Mr PBBB combust. Fact.]</div><div><br />
</div><div>Anyway, when asked to contribute his Pub Juke Box selection by the Morning Advertiser, you could see by the glint in his beady little eye that he was going to have quite a lot of fun creating a list. He even chuckled as he was writing it, which always makes me nervous. It's been published in the magazine but there's not a link I can post. However, although I have to grudgingly admit it's quite good, I felt the need to create the Beer Widow's version that I can sneak into the jukebox when he's not looking.</div><div><br />
</div><div><b>Lynyrd Skynyrd: Freebird</b> - When I did my underage drinking at the Nag's Head in Monmouth, surrounded by rock stars who were recording at the nearby Rockfield Studios (aging rockstars, in a pub full of 17-year old pissed schoolgirls? Surely not?), this was on permanent repeat. I can taste the cider and black from here...</div><div><b>Odyssey: Use it Up (Wear it Out)</b> - I can still remember the maroon drop-waisted dress with a gold lurex stripe running through it (please form an orderly queue) that I wore to this school party. I don't think I used it up or wore it out as I was probably trying to seem very cool leaning against a wall, squinting and, if photographic records are to be believed, looking like a 50-year old suburban housewife. Ah, the 80s...</div><div><b>Norman Greenbaum: Spirit in the Sky</b> - I booked the unheard of Doctor and the Medics at Swansea Uni in 1986 simply because I loved the original track on the Student Union Bar jukebox. By the time they played in the Union, they were No. 1. in the charts. Result.<br />
<b>The Special A.K.A: Nelson Mandela</b> - the soundtrack to my year as union activist, complete with dungarees, pixie boots, scarves in my hair and HUGE hoop earrings. Think Bananarama then take it down a notch or two, factor in a Welsh upbringing, some of the suburban housewife we talked about earlier and you get the picture. Not really much like Bananarama at all, if truth be told. During my tenure as Union Treasurer, I argued with Keith Joseph about student loans, was charged at by mounted police outside South Africa House and, like every student union, council and local authority at the time, oversaw the change in name of the Student Union building to 'Nelson Mandela House'. With hindsight, renaming concrete eyesores after the greatest living activist of our time may not have overthrown apartheid, but he'll always have somewhere to call his own when he's over on his holidays.</div><div><b>The Pogues: Sally MacLennane -</b> I lost a huge chunk of my 20s to The Beaconsfield in Haringey which at the time really was 'the greatest little boozer' mentioned in the song. There was a dog track opposite, where Sainsbury's now stands, and a ramshackle market on Sundays, providing a constant stream of Irish regulars, visitors and ne'er-do-wells. This song distills the atmosphere perfectly.<br />
<b>Stone Roses: Sugar Spun Sister </b>- from my desert island album. One of the most compelling reasons for ALBUMS not just iTunes. Every note in this album is there for a reason, and listening it to all the way through, in order, is how it's meant to sound.<br />
<b>The KLF: 3am Eternal</b> - I lost the White Room cassette years ago but every note is etched into my head. It's a long way from that to Dylan Thomas's boathouse at the (wonderful, you must go) Laugharne Weekend, but I finally 'met' KLF frontman and conceptual artist Bill Drummond there this year. The conversation I had with him will forever reside in the drawer marked 'Embarrassing Encounters With Celebrities; Will You Never Learn, Woman?'. Others include Stephen Berkoff, Stewart Lee and Mick Jones of The Clash.<br />
<b>1 Giant Leap: My Culture</b> - Embarrassing moments aren't confined to slightly tipsy evenings in pubs. Oh no. On honeymoon in Zanzibar, staying at the wonderful Shooting Star, owned by the charming Tanzanian host Eli, I managed to create an entirely sober embarrassing moment. 'Gosh you speak VERY good English', I gurned patronisingly at him. 'Good,' he replied drily. 'I was at North London Poly for 4 years.' If it had been cold enough for a coat, I would have got mine and left. This was playing in the background.</div><div><div><b>Tom Jones: What's New Pussycat</b> - when Mr PBBB's out, I crank this up on repeat and imagine I'm on stage at Wembley Arena doing a duet with the great man himself (Mr Tom Jones, not Mr PBBB who, although great in his own way, isn't allowed to dance - not even a little bit - as it gives me the fear.) In fact I did sing this on stage at the Adelphi Theatre on The Strand one night, at full pelt, complete with imaginary microphone. Luckily it was at about 2 in the morning (it's a long story) and the theatre was entirely empty apart from me and my mate Marian.<br />
<b>Fuck Buttons: Sweet Love for Planet Earth</b> - this is my smartarse track ( a la Pete's Godspeed You Black Emperor choice). I discovered this band when I saw them on the line-up for this year's Green Man and fell in love with the part-Mogwai, part-Chemical Brothers sound I downloaded on iTunes. They were even better live, with a big sweaty tent full of pulsing, wild-eyed festival-goers, fuelled by scrumpy. Magic.<br />
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So, Mr PBBB, put that in your iPod and smoke it. And at our next party, I'm in charge of the music.</div><div><br />
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</div></div></div>lizvaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02334134462662109052noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6885077251053494944.post-28599593077347292432010-05-15T18:44:00.004+01:002010-05-17T07:22:32.905+01:00Booking Marvellous<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">So there I was, minding my own business, making cakes, small woolly monsters and singing tra la la, when one of those ideas arrived that I knew wouldn't go away.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I mentioned it to a couple of people and they said 'ooh that's a good idea', then I spoke to some other people and they said 'ooh that's a very good idea' and before you know it, I had myself a mammoth project to pull off in rather a short space of time.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">That time is nearly upon us and I wanted to formally introduce you to my new project in the hope that you'll help spread the word / buy tickets / make a note to yourself that if I ever say 'I've had this idea...', you put gaffer tape across my mouth. (Leave a little hole in it so I can suck gin through a straw).</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The very first Stoke Newington Literary Festival will happen this 4th-6th June and we'll play host to some pretty astonishing writers, thinkers and rabble rousers. Tony Benn, Jeremy Hardy, AC Grayling, Shappi Khorsandi, Iain Sinclair, Toby Litt, Phill Jupitus, Darcus Howe, Mark Billingham, Louise Welsh, Edwyn Collins & Grace Maxwell, Stewart Lee, Danny Kelly, Suzanne Moore, Monique Roffey and many others will be joining us...check out the full programme </span><a href="http://www.stokenewingtonliteraryfestival.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">here</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Rather unusually for a literary festival we also seem to have got ourselves 3 writers who are going to talk about pubs and beer. I have no idea how it happened. I was obviously looking the other way. One is the astonishingly witty and obviously slightly unhinged Paul Ewen, whose London Pub Reviews was described by fellow-LitFest writer Toby Litt as "the funniest new writer I have read in years. Join him on his one man Campaign for Surreal Ale." Another is Tim Bradford, author of Small Town England and wearer of a very strange hat (check out his photo on the LitFest website) who has a whole chapter on pubs. The other one is Him Indoors, who's been banging on about it </span><a href="http://petebrown.blogspot.com/2010/05/books-and-that.html"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">here</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">If your other interests include music, food, gardening, football, crime (fiction, though I don't want to judge), sci-fi, poetry, politics or comedy, there's even more to get stuck into.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">So, if you're around that weekend, come to Stoke Newington and join in the fun - as well as some very good pubs, we have cafes and restaurants serving pretty much every cuisine you can think of. If you're not around that weekend, you're frankly a bit of a party pooper and no we won't raise a glass to you as we'll be having too much fun without you.</span><br />
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</span>lizvaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02334134462662109052noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6885077251053494944.post-35619200673334583822010-03-15T15:51:00.005+00:002010-03-15T19:02:29.974+00:00O-Bugger<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">What is it with me and beers in Wales? Since discovering that Wales has more than its fair share of fantastic micro-breweries, I've managed to avoid them with a regularity bordering on obsession.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The last time we were there, Mr PBBB was guest of honour at the Wye Valley Brewery which is NEARLY in Wales and as well as driving, I was detoxing. Double whammy.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">This weekend I wasn't detoxing but still managed to avoid my fair share of beer. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">On Saturday we went to Pontypridd. Now unless the lady who lives inside your satnav is having a nervous breakdown or you've had a strange urge to pay homage to Tom Jones (nothing wrong with that, him being a demi-god and all), it's a town you're unlikely to be passing through. I lived in South Wales for the first half of my life and I don't think I ever passed through either. It's just not that sort of place.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">However, if by some miracle you DO pitch up there, make sure you visit what was previously the Bunch of Grapes until a graphic designer got hold of it and is now the <a href="http://www.bunchofgrapes.org.uk/">Bun Chof Gra Pe S</a> - a lovely little boozer with a great restaurant attached.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">We'd been invited by the owner, Nick Otley, who also brews some astonishing beers just around the corner, all of which have the letter O in the name: O-Garden, Columb-O, Dark-O...and some others which haven't.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Once again, my enjoyment of the evening was slightly dampened by being designated driver (between me, Mr PBBB and Captain, I'm the only one who can drive, Mr PBBB being phobic in that department and Captain having an inability to steer without getting distracted by squirrels). Anyway, it meant I was rationed to two half pints for the WHOLE evening, which was unfortunate given where we were and who we were with.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">It also meant that by midnight I was the only person capable of stringing a sentence together. Sloshed, the lot of them. Mr PBBB had gone all fuzzy round the edges and was telling over-long anecdotes and pretending he didn't mind if we left before daybreak. Nick was getting misty eyed and sentimental about hops in the way that only a brewer can, and his wife's lovely mate Gina (not her real name - it's better that way) was in that blurred, hiccuppy haze when you just set yourself on a loop of rotating stories and questions in the vain hope that no-one will notice that you've got mascara all down one cheek and can't actually seem to get your glass from the table to your mouth without collateral damage. She won't be reading this as she'll be chewing paracetamol in a darkened room until about Easter, but if you know her, please remind her that she must take her friend to the Angel Hotel, Abergavenny for afternoon tea next week. She'll love it.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">So, next time we go to Wales, I'll make sure we're furnished with the number of a local minicab firm - I'll be the one swaying by the bar with lipstick on my teeth saying 'I think you're LOVELY, what did you say your name was again? I think you're LOVELY' and ordering another It's O-kay I'm Not Driving IPA.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Iechyd da.</span><br />
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</span>lizvaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02334134462662109052noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6885077251053494944.post-84745849717141524222010-02-23T14:01:00.001+00:002010-02-23T14:06:12.416+00:00Wonderful, Wonderful Weekend.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0hyphenhyphenjVTemARu18yve2QiEQ-lhvzkQToVB-s0aySjoWNwiOur6QIcv8n1QkMkqeNlrNrBPnB0jcnHPIO6OHcacOq43DwP1YSgJgfJRmaD5ZdP23ChczxW7FYrSf6zjtPJZ4tyYOIQmFtXVk/s1600-h/Copenhagen.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0hyphenhyphenjVTemARu18yve2QiEQ-lhvzkQToVB-s0aySjoWNwiOur6QIcv8n1QkMkqeNlrNrBPnB0jcnHPIO6OHcacOq43DwP1YSgJgfJRmaD5ZdP23ChczxW7FYrSf6zjtPJZ4tyYOIQmFtXVk/s200/Copenhagen.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>Mr PBBB took me to Copenhagen this weekend for a belated birthday treat and to mark our 10th anniversary. What a lovely husband he is, sometimes.<br />
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The decision to take me to the Danish capital may not have been as random or indeed romantic as I first thought, given the number of times I heard the sentence 'well of course Denmark has one of the most exciting craft beer scenes in Europe these days'. However, this weekend was one of those that was entirely enhanced by the beer thing. We had dinner with the fabulous Anders Kissmeyer at his brewpub, <a href="http://noerrebrobryghus.dk/17/">Norrebro Bryghus</a> and were taken on a gastronomic beery feast that included most of a cow, an unlikely dessert made from liquorice, beetroot and parsnip and a range of Anders' astonishing beers, ending up with a brandy snifter of the delightfully named Little Korkny Ale, a foot-stomping, who-needs-dessert barley wine that was so delicious we took out another mortgage for some more in the bar downstairs after Anders had left. If you ever go to Copenhagen, put Norrebro Bryghus at the top of your list and don't have a big breakfast.<br />
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But the best moment happened entirely without the helping hand of beerage. Mr PBBB's not fussy about his food (I know that's hard to believe given how malnourished he looks) but two of his least favourite things are cream and coffee. I can recount literally hundreds of conversations that go something like 'Cream - I don't believe it!! I hate cream. Why don't they SAY there's going to be cream on it on the MENU for God's sake? It's ridiculous. Cream, yeuch.' Then there's the equally familiar 'No thanks, I don't really drink coffee. Do you have peppermint tea instead?'<br />
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We ate at the wonderful <a href="http://www.pederoxe.dk/English/index_english.htm">Peder Oxe</a> on Saturday night, and the sheer elegance of the interiors - Portuguese tiles, open fires, atmospheric lighting - was matched only by the absolutely exquisite waitresses. Every single one of them made Helena Christiansen look like the unfortunate love-child of Les Dawson and Ena Sharples. The most divine of them came to take our dessert order, all silky blonde hair, dainty features and skin like rose petals. "Peppermint tea, please", I said, factoring in the fact it was nearly midnight and I didn't want caffeine jitters. "What about you, sir?" asked the angel-like apparition, twinkling coquettishly at Mr PBBB.."an Irish Coffee?" Long pause, possibly a twitch. "Hmm, yes I think I will", he declared, trying to look as though it was a really <i>really</i> good idea - one that he wished he'd had, in fact.<br />
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Once she'd gone to grind the coffee beans and start churning, I laughed so much I think I may have let out a little wee. "IRISH COFFEE?" I hooted. "Coffee and lots of cream?? Since when?" Apparently I think I'll find that sometimes he DOES have coffee and actually, cream is, um, you know, nice in, um Irish coffee because of the WHISKY, so there was no need for me to Go On About It.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfpgTHS37UtyJuqL2bQWqmKQK3MeY8G9GcMT7Jq5bX8i9LeHWJbND0vRdc4HM_JwfQRmp0O-n_xFuXICGC8raOaAXcGQN-BtWE4j5inS5_1hbS2ee9UD0aCyEfxF0N-kf5ZgCJV2gUuq6H/s1600-h/IMG_0111.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfpgTHS37UtyJuqL2bQWqmKQK3MeY8G9GcMT7Jq5bX8i9LeHWJbND0vRdc4HM_JwfQRmp0O-n_xFuXICGC8raOaAXcGQN-BtWE4j5inS5_1hbS2ee9UD0aCyEfxF0N-kf5ZgCJV2gUuq6H/s320/IMG_0111.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Miss World came back and set up her tray just round the partition behind Mr PBBB's seat. First round the partition was my peppermint tea. Then came the bowl of thickly whipped cream. "Ooh look, your favourite," I beamed at him. Then came the coffee. "And your second favourite". Then came a bottle of Jamesons. "How much whisky would you like?" the elfen beauty pouted. "A little one or a man sized one?" <br />
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I hope she's on commission.lizvaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02334134462662109052noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6885077251053494944.post-21669905286201941522010-02-09T16:46:00.000+00:002010-02-09T16:46:01.978+00:00Beer + Cake = Beer Cakes.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">One whole month without alcohol, sugar, caffeine, wheat, dairy and red meat and the January detox is properly over. However it did what it set out to do: I'm nearly a stone lighter and, more importantly, have proved to myself that yes, if I squint, I do have an inner core of steel and thus am not permanently a molten jelly of giving-in-ness when it comes to rich food and the demon booze. </span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9e0qDZgPFPNkJkdAVMgWMm7qCfhyphenhyphenpcTiCEx3vO4hzrADmOalfMdJmpdJYBK6K-zGQgQqx2igslTINy9YEA0VLlT50eF6b-IIqq3trQA9ocN72Nq2J47IILve6u1_TVIapx-ggNSdvTNRv/s1600-h/beer+cupcakes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9e0qDZgPFPNkJkdAVMgWMm7qCfhyphenhyphenpcTiCEx3vO4hzrADmOalfMdJmpdJYBK6K-zGQgQqx2igslTINy9YEA0VLlT50eF6b-IIqq3trQA9ocN72Nq2J47IILve6u1_TVIapx-ggNSdvTNRv/s320/beer+cupcakes.jpg" /></a></div><div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">But what the hell, look at these babies: <a href="http://smittenkitchen.com/2009/01/car-bomb-cupcakes/">Chocolate Whisky and Beer Cupcakes</a>. I fell in love with the Guinness cupcakes at delicious cake-emporium <a href="http://www.konditorandcook.com/products">Konditor & Cook</a> (mercifully only a short stagger from the Rake in Borough Market), and have even been known to make one last for a whole weekend, with judicious use of a cake knife, an alarm clock and a small plate. If these are half as good as the recipe promises, I'll be very pleased indeed, and Mr PBBB's shelf of dark beers in the cellar will come in very handy, thank you very much for asking.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">My mission to unearth the alternative benefits of beer continues - it's not all barging around shouting about hops and sticking it in old sherry casks, you know.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Now I'm off to find a vicar to invite for tea. Must be one in North London somewhere.</span></div></div>lizvaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02334134462662109052noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6885077251053494944.post-56348660452464412682010-01-27T22:35:00.002+00:002010-01-27T22:40:09.992+00:00The Boy Done Good.Mr PBBB went to Brussels yesterday. We all know what happened last time he went. Yes, that's right, Brussels had 'run out of chocolate' and he brought me back a red pointy hat with a bell on it as a present.<br />
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So scathing was my reaction that this time he seems to have phoned in advance to double-check on the chocolate thing.<br />
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</div>And he went not to any old sweetie shop but to <a href="http://www.valrhona.com/be">Valrhona</a>, King of Chocolate. A whole goody bag stuffed full of les grandes crus chocolates. Blocks of intense, powerful dark single estate Manjari, Tainori, Albinao and Guanaja, a box of assorted chocolatey delights and some decadent chocolate sauce.<br />
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His other bags are clanking suspiciously but I've pretended I can't hear. He's in the good books for the rest of the week. Well, until Friday.lizvaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02334134462662109052noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6885077251053494944.post-68917711281137729382010-01-11T12:35:00.001+00:002010-01-11T13:19:33.642+00:00Writer Injured in Beer-Related Knife Attack!If I was a log-keeping sort of person, yesterday I would have been able to log our first beer-related injury of 2010. I aspire to be a person who keeps logs - I might make it a Newish Year Resolution. My friend Mike has a log of all the books he's ever read which I think is a very good idea. Another friend Ann has a Book of Doom in which she writes all the transgressions - real or perceived - of her husband, Just In Case She Needs It. It's quite a big book.<br />
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A log of drink-related injuries would be incredibly useful. I could send it, for instance, to the people who compile all the dodgy statistics about the impact of binge drinking. Because yesterday's incident was actually caused by them, not by alcohol itself, but more of that later.<br />
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We don't actually need alcohol to sustain many of the injuries at Beer Towers. Mr PBBB is frequently shouting 'What now?' in response to a yell / squeak from another part of the house. Usually it's something like smacking myself on the side of the head with my hairdryer or poking a mascara wand into my eye, but sometimes it's a spectacular smashing of my elbow into a singularly unhelpful piece of architraving or the ripping off of two fingernails trying to open the back door to let Captain out to pee.<br />
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I have to admit that not all of my injuries are sustained on the proverbial wagon. There was the time I came back from holiday with a bruise on my arse so lurid that it apparently 'looked as though I'd sat in a punnet of blackberries'. If memory serves me right, that was thanks to a particularly toxic series of cocktails in a bar in Greece and my subsequent descent down a flight of concrete stairs with an amply cushioned but painful landing. Then there was the Sambuca stigmata (easy to do if you haven't read the instructions), the dislocated toe (showing off by kicking a wheel, as you do), the traumatised cocyx (doing the can-can with both legs at the same time - people in Bristol still talk about it), a broken toe (dropping a particularly heavy glass on it whilst trying to drink some water to prevent a hangover - there's no justice) and a black eye sustained when I ran into someone's benignly outstretched fist during a fire alarm.<br />
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Reading back over this catalogue of disasters, I'm slightly surprised that a) I'm still alive and b) I haven't been tempted to seriously worry about my drinking and get my sorry (and bruised) arse off to an AA meeting, but there you go. If the options were sensible abstinence or occasional memorable days lost in a mad, laughing, sociable, alcohol-fuelled ruckus with the occasional battle-scar, I'd choose the latter every time.<br />
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Anyway, back to the point. Yesterday, STONE COLD SOBER, Mr PBBB sliced a big chunk of his finger and nail bed completely off. Claret everywhere. And it was all the result of a particularly irritating article about beer he'd been reading. He was so incensed that he stormed downstairs to make a salad with the very expensive, desperately sharp Japanese knives that I'm not allowed to use without washing and drying them INSTANTLY. He banged open the fridge door, still muttering under his breath about the beer thing, threw down the spring onions onto the chopping block and decided that this was the perfect moment to try out some fancy new chopping skills. It was still bleeding 3 hours later, but as he's from Barnsley he toughed it out with a sticking plaster.<br />
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So there you have it. A completely sober drinking accident, thanks to the wankers with the dodgy statistics. They should be ashamed of themselves.lizvaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02334134462662109052noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6885077251053494944.post-69094256657359099922010-01-09T17:26:00.000+00:002010-01-09T17:26:08.822+00:00DetoxtasticWell that was a doddle. Only 3 days in and it looks as though the no wheat / dairy / alcohol / caffeine / sugar / red meat regime is working a treat (see below). I also seem to have had my belly-button pierced which is strange, as I've always thought it was a bit chavvy.<br />
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</div>Oh if only things were that simple. With the Wii Fit still in its cellophane wrapper and my appointment with the chiropractor cancelled thanks to the snow, things have been a bit static at Beer Towers this week. <br />
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However we've been eating like detox vegan kings. This week we've had spicy split-pea soup (velvety and delicious), Lentil Shepherd's Pie (rich and satisfying) and Pete's Special Soup (we never ask about the ingredients - some things are best kept secret).<br />
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Today I continue my quest to cross Gillian McKeith with Fanny Cradock *shudder* and I've made the unlikely sounding delight of Cabbage and White Bean Soup. It's bloody lovely, even though it sounds like something they'd serve at a workhouse. I urge you to try it:<br />
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Delicious & Healthy Cabbage & White Bean Soup<br />
Finely slice <b>1 onion</b>, <b>2 celery stalks</b> and a <b>whole white cabbage</b>. Put in a saucepan with a <b>stock cube</b> (I used a vegetable stock one but you could use chicken) and 1 tbsp <b>vegetable bouillon powder</b> (mine's a Marigold one - most health food shops and probably better supermarkets sell them). Cover with water, bring to boil then simmer for 30-40 mins under all nice and tender. Add <b>1 tin of butter beans</b> (drained), simmer for another 10 mins. Whizz with hand-held or food processor. If you can be arsed, sprinkle some parsley and fresh peas. If not, tuck in straight away. Mmm. Feel that goodness coursing around your body. Hubba.<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">(Serves 4, courtesy of Gillian Bloody McKeith)</span><br />
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And no, we don't need a beer to match with it, but thanks for asking.lizvaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02334134462662109052noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6885077251053494944.post-58756153221766168812010-01-03T14:19:00.004+00:002010-01-03T17:59:00.988+00:00Wii FatThere's no avoiding it. 2009, a year of book launches, comfort eating and trying to make a dent in Mr PBBB's beer cellar has had a supernatural effect on my wardrobe. All my clothes have shrunk. Even my magic pants. Usually, wardrobe malfunctions are handled entirely by Mr PBBB who in the past has put both a silk chiffon beaded dress and a brand new set of Agent Provocateur bra and knickers in a hot wash. I was understandably more upset about the dress, Mr PBBB about the smalls.<br />
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</div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwAmqFfwO2Y6ma9OLvWgZyA6VXSxRnk_D9SYhaaAtNHGWi57J_Wxm9aW_pTtWfe41Vy62D1d1ZSAW1aYxY7XfF3NjYdOlnHY3iTb4nkjB9FfmdfOUvpUEOzzynqnDQVarlQ0C7aSMfehMs/s1600-h/fat+couple.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="259" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwAmqFfwO2Y6ma9OLvWgZyA6VXSxRnk_D9SYhaaAtNHGWi57J_Wxm9aW_pTtWfe41Vy62D1d1ZSAW1aYxY7XfF3NjYdOlnHY3iTb4nkjB9FfmdfOUvpUEOzzynqnDQVarlQ0C7aSMfehMs/s320/fat+couple.jpg" width="320" /></a>This Christmas our present to ourselves was a Wii Fit. So far, Mr PBBB has managed to get Barnsley into the Pro Evolution Soccer play-offs by buying both Thierry Henry AND Wayne Rooney without actually breaking a sweat. Call me old-fashioned, but I suspect we have to physically unwrap and install the Fit software then actually USE IT (more than once) in order for it to have any real effect.<br />
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</div><div>Tomorrow is the first day of our month-long detox. It's the full bells and whistles one - no wheat, dairy, sugar, red meat, caffeine or alcohol. And for every expert that says there's no point doing one, the benefits tell another story. We sleep better, wake refreshed and raring to go, any lingering eczema I have (*nice*) vanishes within days AND we lose on average between 7-12lbs each. Yawn.<br />
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</div><div>To celebrate the last day of hedonistic living, we're having the best breakfast in the whole wide world. Smoked (spicy) sausage sandwiches (from a Welsh smokery) in freshly baked white bread (from the bagel shop round the corner) with brown sauce (from the Houses of Parliament). <br />
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</div><div>I suspect that we're not going to a) create a decent meal from or b) actually get through the cheese-mountain, 6 mini mince pies, 3 yoghurts, remnants of sherry, couple of glasses of Baileys and half a bottle of very expensive red wine, 2 large bags of sea salt and balsamic vinegar crisps, what's left of the festive ham and the chocolate Scrabble game, but we'll give it our best shot.<br />
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</div><div>Tomorrow we'll be busting out the quinoa, concocting bean stews, tofu stir-fries and pretending we quite like corn pasta, but today, it's sausages, beer and chocolate all the way...<br />
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</div>lizvaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02334134462662109052noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6885077251053494944.post-64403570405541727042009-12-29T17:12:00.001+00:002009-12-29T17:27:51.433+00:00My Christmas<a href="http://www.wordle.net/show/wrdl/1491414/My_Christmas" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Wordle: My Christmas"><img alt="Wordle: My Christmas" src="http://www.wordle.net/thumb/wrdl/1491414/My_Christmas" style="border-bottom-color: rgb(221, 221, 221); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-left-color: rgb(221, 221, 221); border-left-style: solid; border-left-width: 1px; border-right-color: rgb(221, 221, 221); border-right-style: solid; border-right-width: 1px; border-top-color: rgb(221, 221, 221); border-top-style: solid; border-top-width: 1px; padding-bottom: 4px; padding-left: 4px; padding-right: 4px; padding-top: 4px;" /></a><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">I've only just discovered <a href="http://www.wordle.net/">Wordle</a> - it's great. I did a beer one but deleted it sharpish. That way madness lies.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">I predict New Year Resolutions going to pot if I bookmark it. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">And there really are too many resolutions, mostly involving how to avoid beer, to risk it.</span></span>lizvaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02334134462662109052noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6885077251053494944.post-10726975402568907262009-12-23T13:29:00.002+00:002010-10-11T23:18:07.080+01:00Class of '09<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB8VuCLDeZKkpt07NgV19eJZwhFQMKnhXADaULjjyJeD9XUmf0YY54OFY0ZoH5tuerTDB9PxQRv42t1Wkp4FVRQaV1BEKVJLiQ4_YMBl0ZSmwEmn6lHpard_KVWvupnefwHVUxFV1SVeFN/s1600-h/awards.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB8VuCLDeZKkpt07NgV19eJZwhFQMKnhXADaULjjyJeD9XUmf0YY54OFY0ZoH5tuerTDB9PxQRv42t1Wkp4FVRQaV1BEKVJLiQ4_YMBl0ZSmwEmn6lHpard_KVWvupnefwHVUxFV1SVeFN/s200/awards.jpg" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">We always say it, but it's true. Hasn't it flown by? This time last year we were still covered in builders' rubble after the reconstruction of our kitchen and bathroom and were incredibly stressed with last-minute unpacking of kitchen boxes, getting the industrial cleaners in and hiring the only vehicle left - a transit van - to pick my dad up from Victoria Coach Station. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Exactly one year later, we've had an incredibly chilled run-up to the festive season which has been extra-magical thanks to the sprinkling of snow. We've got a house full of delicious food and apparently there are a couple of cans of Fosters in the cellar if we run out of wine. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The joy of having a relaxed Christmas will be offset by the deep sadness of missing my Dad, who passed away in February. But the festive season isn't just about stuffing our faces and watching the Gavin & Stacey special. It's time to reflect on Christmasses past, present and future (someone should use that as a story line, I think it might fly..) and we'll be doing just that, marking the first Christmas without Dad with a meal we couldn't have cooked when he was with us, stuffed with garlic ('ooh, not for me'), onions ('I love them but they don't love me'), spices ('I'd better not') and gravy ('it plays havoc'). </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Mr PBBB is looking forward to what's already shaping up to be a busy, exciting and beery new year. I've got a new project that I'm ridiculously excited about and which promises to keep me out of trouble for the foreseeable.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">So with the fairy lights twinkling, Johnny Cash's Christmas Collection serenading me and a lunchtime Baileys by my side, I thought I'd join in the spurious-award-giving and bestow a couple of awards to people who've made the whole beer thing a little more bearable this year.</span><br />
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</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The <b>Beer Delivery Award</b> goes to our elderly next door neighbour who, frankly, is a lot stronger than she looks. We regularly come home to find she's taken delivery of the latest box of beer and has lifted it in and out of her house and into ours. She doesn't drink so she doesn't even have a vested interest. Together with the fact that she feeds the insatiable beast otherwise known as Fatbert the Cat (who, together with Mika, exists only to irritate Mr PBBB to the point of incandescence), this also nets her the <b>Best Beer Neighbour of the Year Award</b>.</span><br />
<div><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><b>Beer of the Year</b> definitely goes to My New Favourite Beer which changes pretty much every week, but which this year has included Thornbridge Raven (for one night only, never to be repeated, thanks for asking), CrownBrewerStu's stonking 13% IPA that I think we're having for Christmas Dinner, Otley's Columb-O and the Flying Dog smoked beer which introduced me to smoked beer, winner of <b>My</b> <b>New Favourite Style of Beer Award</b>.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><b>Brewer of the Year</b> would have gone to Stuart Ross if he hadn't shouted 'Beer' every 5 minutes the morning after the Raven incident. So it goes to Steve Wellington instead because he's responsible for the main ingredient of our Christmas pudding. This is the same ingredient the Queen gets to use, so I'm bestowing upon myself the title of "Queen for the Day" which means Mr PBBB will have to act all Prince Phillip-ish and intermittently shout racist insults, which should go down well with the neighbours.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Beer writer and all-round good egg Jeff Pickthall gets the <b>Best Beery House-Guest Ever Award</b>. Not only did he make his bed all tidy when he last came to stay, but he voluntarily loaded the dishwasher AND brought some Cartmel Sticky Toffee Pudding as a gift, thus ensuring free board in London for the rest of his natural born days. Jeff, if you're reading this, you left 2 dodgy ties and your mobile phone charger in the spare room...</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1zC9QzJnfNjqCXQrQ5zMts2QoCt2Omzodvbs_p79Mb7n7bYh1atn6f1LbLzhObtsZbY2tuUYHNq6HEBBYsowzOinL9j524cR4Chnn8dNxmNeiDegzJOwwfODJ9B_fW783sccmMqmfwucB/s1600-h/m_503e94edaded5e429a89c94b773bbc4a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1zC9QzJnfNjqCXQrQ5zMts2QoCt2Omzodvbs_p79Mb7n7bYh1atn6f1LbLzhObtsZbY2tuUYHNq6HEBBYsowzOinL9j524cR4Chnn8dNxmNeiDegzJOwwfODJ9B_fW783sccmMqmfwucB/s320/m_503e94edaded5e429a89c94b773bbc4a.jpg" /></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I'm giving <b>2 Best Pub Awards</b>: the first to <a href="http://www.fancyapint.com/pubs/pub880.php">The White Hart</a> in Stoke Newington, which combines great beer garden, excellent Sunday Lunch, shortest distance from home, dog-friendliness and suitably eclectic group of customers (a Peter Kay-as-pub-regular lookalike, some random celebs and the bloke who taught Angelina Jolie to rollerblade). The 2nd award goes to <a href="http://www.thecharleslambpub.com/">The Charles Lamb</a> in Islington, mainly because it's got the best pub dog in London. Mascha (left) is an affectionate, slightly greedy 10-year old Staffie, who has special hand-painted signs dotted around the pub saying 'Please Do Not Feed Mascha'. It's run by some really friendly people, the food is excellent and this year it was host to one of the best days of the year, a Hophead-fuelled riot of tall tales and side-aching laughing with Billy and Declan, stars of Three Sheets. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Finally, 2009 wouldn't be complete without a <b>Beer Husband of the Year</b> <b>Award</b>. This category, only having one eligible entry, wasn't the most hotly-contested of the bunch, it has to be said. The only entrant didn't even complete his own application - I had to do it. There were also a lot of points deducted from the overall score. Points lopped off for endless yanging about neo-prohibitionism, Alistair Darling and supermarket pricing. Lots of points lost for the moaning every time we've walked into a pub and there's only been one - or worse, no - handpull on the bar. Several points hacked off for numerous trips in the car to the sorting office, only to find a parcel with a bottle of beer in it. Another swathe of points gone for red pointy promotional beer hats with bells on, an overflow of promotional beer glasses in our otherwise stylish kitchen and Spitfire bottle-openers that scare the bejaysus out of me every time I use them (they make a noise like a, er, Spitfire which makes me duck). </span><br />
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</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">But despite all the deducted points, the entrant made up for it with his sincere efforts to ensure that beer doesn't take over too much (that's 'sincere', not 'successful' by the way). For every beer event that I've been invited to and enjoyed, I had to add some points. The people I've met along the way who've become friends also ensured some extra points. And if I'm really honest, I have to acknowledge that the winning entrant has opened my eyes and taste buds to some beers that I now often choose over a glass of wine. So for all of that, and the fact that on a good day, he's the cleverest, kindest and loveliest person I know, the Beer Husband of the Year Award goes to.... Mr PBBB.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">And as the Awards come to a close, I'd just like to wish everyone a very splendid Christmas and a happy and healthy New Year. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
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</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span></div>lizvaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02334134462662109052noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6885077251053494944.post-28865467838668007412009-12-15T09:22:00.000+00:002009-12-15T09:22:46.818+00:00I thought we'd agreed...I had this conversation with Mr PBBB last night, who'd chanced his liver on an event at The Rake and who was phoning me to announce his departure:<br />
<br />
Mr PBBB: Hello I'm coming home now.<br />
Me: Excellent.<br />
Mr PBBB: It was a great event.<br />
Me: Excellent.<br />
Mr PBBB: I've got you a present.<br />
Me: Is it beer?<br />
Mr PBBB: Yes.<br />
Me: .....<br />
Mr PBBB: But it's your beer, I won't drink it.<br />
Me: .....<br />
Mr PBBB: I'll just get my coat.lizvaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02334134462662109052noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6885077251053494944.post-8925128084494805352009-12-11T18:20:00.001+00:002009-12-11T18:58:51.393+00:00Ooh ooh look at this!I'm not someone who needs a big fat excuse for a drink. Flimsy ones do just fine. 'You've stubbed your toe, you say? Let's nip over to the White Hart.' So <a href="http://www.knockknock.biz/catalog/categories/pads/classic-pads/why-i-must-get-drunk-you-pad/">this handy pad</a> firstly legitimises my approach to casual drinking and secondly provides even more imaginative excuses to <a href="http://www.knockknock.biz/">knockknock.biz</a> a couple back. Do you see what I did there? The name of the people who make these clever things incorporated into a sentence. I need a lie-down.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizlaKYUlM2guK2FFelfcOpofS02tYUBGL8gfCbC6ZK_86luLnl2loW4IikHD-l7oLGDKYfg5_bbt7BIivnXmdn8q8KcI8l8pcUApeixK6cE-EAyjs-BAe_yfpp64VHOcC2ab7SyqfN_Zuz/s1600-h/12215_WhyGetDrunk_1thumbnail.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizlaKYUlM2guK2FFelfcOpofS02tYUBGL8gfCbC6ZK_86luLnl2loW4IikHD-l7oLGDKYfg5_bbt7BIivnXmdn8q8KcI8l8pcUApeixK6cE-EAyjs-BAe_yfpp64VHOcC2ab7SyqfN_Zuz/s400/12215_WhyGetDrunk_1thumbnail.jpg" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizlaKYUlM2guK2FFelfcOpofS02tYUBGL8gfCbC6ZK_86luLnl2loW4IikHD-l7oLGDKYfg5_bbt7BIivnXmdn8q8KcI8l8pcUApeixK6cE-EAyjs-BAe_yfpp64VHOcC2ab7SyqfN_Zuz/s1600-h/12215_WhyGetDrunk_1thumbnail.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br />
</a><br />
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So this one I'd quite like in my own stocking this Christmas. And please see below one for the more tickerishly minded....<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXHzX8UmZ98nrDqKI9qoOL1gMnv8FHy-tp5ZfLLk9fa7KzoWedKjSQXyqNET0xUfIeFC1IXhKNNZXvCs4uCAr4isvdgXtFGlWp4agAG2XLb1niNecaK-sqNSdPh0Ar1edM2UV85XCZmc0k/s1600-h/RateThatBeer_1thumbnail.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXHzX8UmZ98nrDqKI9qoOL1gMnv8FHy-tp5ZfLLk9fa7KzoWedKjSQXyqNET0xUfIeFC1IXhKNNZXvCs4uCAr4isvdgXtFGlWp4agAG2XLb1niNecaK-sqNSdPh0Ar1edM2UV85XCZmc0k/s400/RateThatBeer_1thumbnail.jpg" /></a><br />
</div>lizvaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02334134462662109052noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6885077251053494944.post-35657689813849059652009-12-10T12:45:00.000+00:002009-12-10T12:45:26.613+00:00Elephants in RoomsWe're finally back at Beer Towers after our northern leg of the pre-Xmas rellies tour and Tuesday night's opening of the wonderful new bar at Sheffield Station, during which I discovered my new favourite beer - a black IPA called Raven by Thornbridge. I also learned a very valuable lesson which is that thou shalt not drink Raven all night, even if it is in half pints, if thou dost not want the hangover to end all hangovers the next day. Not even a whole jug of coffee, 2 orange juices, baked beans on toast, cornflakes with sugar on them, 4 jelly babies, half a bag of Maltesers and a bottle of Lucozade helped. And I wonder why I need to go on a diet...<br />
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Anyway, what a week it's been, what with me becoming the first lady of beer writing and all, even though I missed the Twitter update announcing it as I was watching the re-run of Strictly Come Dancing. Lovely news about Mr PBBB (or Mr PBBWOTY) winning a gold tankard - just what we need - and, even lovelier, the spondoolies that come with the award. Some people might think that a cash prize gives them the opportunity to treat their lovely 'the wife' and in thus doing wipe out some of the accrued debt they've earned over a year's worth of beeriness....see what you think.<br />
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A couple of months ago, the DAY OF THE DEADLINE FOR THE AWARDS, to be precise, Mr PBBB asked me if I'd mind photocopying his entries and 'popping them in the post', as he was off to a beer tasting. Seriously.<br />
<br />
The last time I stepped in to get his submission sorted out was when he was on a ship without photocopier, stapler, postal service, that sort of thing. That year, he'd been reasonably productive and had some trade articles, a couple of national pieces and that was about it. Yet it still took 2 people most of a day to photocopy and collate the 4 separate packs that are required for the judges.<br />
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This year, Mr PBBB's been much more productive than that. Much, much more productive. When announcing the winner, Zak Avery mentioned the 'elephant in the room' which was the sheer volume and quality of one particular entry. Indeed it was, Zak, indeed it was. We had 5-page articles that started on a right-hand page, followed over a double-page spread then finished in a couple of spurts between full page ads that we obviously didn't want to replicate. We had the gargantuan weight of his blog: taking on the BBC, waxing lyrical about some beers, berating Alistair Darling, raising the issue of neo-prohibitionism, celebrating bar snacks..you name it. We had a year's worth of Publican columns. We had his book, which luckily I didn't have to photocopy as we had a few knocking round the house.<br />
<br />
Being the supportive wife I sometimes am if I'm offered a decent enough bribe, I very grudgingly agreed and cancelled the rest of my plans for the day.<br />
<br />
I started at the newsagent round the corner, who Mr PBBB said was 'lovely and very helpful'. That particular gentleman must have had the day off: I was cramped in the back of the shop with a very old and wonky b&w photocopier with no place to put my bag, no surface on which to rest either the 'to copy' pile or the 'have copied' pile, a surly and unhelpful replacement newsagent and some of the most irritating fellow customers in the world. First there was the loud shouty girl who JUST WANTED TO PHOTOCOPY HER CV INNIT so I let her interrupt my gargantuan task to do so, then the elderly West Indian gentleman who 'just wanted to copy a form'. I swear it would have been faster to train up some apprentices to recreate it in copperplate script. First he didn't know which way to place the paper on the scanner, then he didn't know which button to press, then he forgot which side of the form he'd already copied, during which time he'd re-forgotten the first two lessons in how to photocopy, then just as I thought he might nearly be finished, he answered his phone and engaged in a lengthy conversation about his bowels. I'm honestly not kidding.<br />
<br />
By this time, having pretty much lost the will to live, as well as two whole hours of my life, I phoned Mr PBBB to do some yelling.<br />
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He suggested I take the whole thing to the photocopying shop in Islington, which I grudgingly accepted was a Very Good Idea Indeed, and more practical than my idea, which had involved quite a lot of inserting of piles of articles and blog entries into his underpants. The people in the photocopying shop were quite surprised. They looked at the pile of entries, my complicated instructions about which bits went where, looked at me with trepidation then looked back at the pile. "Are you sure?" they said. "It'll cost a fortune. And it won't be ready until about 4." <br />
<br />
My mental health and the state of our marriage on the line, I said 'It's FINE. And I'll see you at 4.' <br />
<br />
At 2 minutes past 4 and £130 lighter, yes you read it right, £130 lighter, I was in Islington Library with a stapler, a huge box, some paper folders and 88 minutes to get it all collated, in the right folders, up to the Post Office where there hopefully wouldn't be a queue ha ha ha and registered for next day guaranteed delivery.<br />
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At 50 minutes past 4, with all the above looking distinctly unlikely, SURROUNDED by more photocopies than I ever want to see again and with my stress levels elevated to somewhere near Jupiter, I got a phone call. "Hi lovely, how are you?" For a clever man, Mr PBBB sometimes astonishes me. "Anyway," he continued quickly, as he heard my large and dangerous intake of breath, "I've got good news which you might think is also bad news but it really isn't." At this point, all bets about him winning ANYTHING writerly were off. "What?" I snapped. He replied "The deadline's been put back til next Wednesday." <br />
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So, I'm thinking that the prize money that accompanies the Michael Jackson Beer Writer of the Year Award (which always prompts a bewildered response amongst those who haven't heard of the other Michael Jackson) might go some way to buttering me up in time for Christmas which I've just realised makes me sound like a turkey.<br />
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Suggestions on a postcard welcome.<br />
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And for goodness' sake don't tell Mr PBBB, but I'm so proud of him that I'd do it all over again...lizvaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02334134462662109052noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6885077251053494944.post-89821805004910095832009-11-29T16:59:00.002+00:002009-11-29T17:19:39.827+00:00Beery presents for your beery loved ones<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: 11px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">As I write this, there are </span> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">26 days, 7 hours and 37 minutes worth of shopping time until Christmas. Take out sleeping time, hangovers, getting ready to go out, tickling Captain's tummy, writing cards and having a bath, I think we're safe in saying that once again it'll be a mad panic involving last minute internet purchases and weeping on Oxford Street.</span></span></span></span><br />
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</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Some might argue that with a whole year's worth of beer ephemera, beer stories, beer events, beer tastings and general beer ramblings to contend with, the last thing that should find its way winkled into our beer-lover's Christmas stocking is anything beer-related. But it's such a joy to see their little faces light up when they open something moderately interesting and beery that I can't resist.</span><br />
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</div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Previous years have seen some modest successes (the <a href="http://www.myownlabels.com/ML119.asp?fnColumns=4&AreaID=2&source=googleBR9&gclid=CN-O0JLSsJ4CFQGZ2AodOCkPlw">customised beer labels</a> I stuck onto a special IPA were particularly fine, as were the Pete's Bar <a href="http://www.myownlabels.com/ML119.asp?fnColumns=4&AreaID=12">coasters</a> that still appear at parties) and, about 3 Christmasses ago, one spectacular backfire. Mr PBBB had been banging on endlessly about Sam Adams Utopias which, for the uninitiated, is, er, a nice strong beer that costs a lot. That's if you can actually get hold of a bottle. It's as rare as hens' teeth. That particular year, I was reliably informed, you were lucky to get your hands on a bottle on Ebay for less than £200, such was its rarity value. Now I love an impossible challenge more than most, so I scoured the internet determined to find one single bottle that I could present to Mr PBBB on Christmas Day, thus sprinkling some fairy dust on all of our lives.</span></span><br />
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</div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Imagine my surprise and hand-clapping delight when I found out that Shepherd Neame had actually got a small consignment that meant, for £60 plus p&p, one rare, exclusive bottle could be mine. I had it furtively shipped to my mate Joan's and allowed myself a little chuckle every day as I prepared for the big reveal.</span></span><br />
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</div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">One afternoon, just before Christmas, I came home to find a big box in the hall. I took one look at the shipping label and squeaked 'what's this?', apparently loud enough even for humans to hear. 'You'll never guess!', said Mr PBBB, wrongly. 'TWO bottles of Sam Adams Utopias!"</span></span><br />
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</span></span><br />
</div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I won't share my response online, in case you get some sort of 'Parental control protocols breached. Please report obscene content' alert pop up on screen, but you get the gist.</span></span><br />
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</span></span><br />
</div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Anyway, this year I found this lovely company who make soaps made with some very nice beers indeed. And these aren't just any 'beer soaps'. You know, when the categories include 'witbiers', 'pilsners', 'bocks' and ales', that these guys know their stuff. And you also know, if Mr PBBB opens a gift of 'San Francisco Beer, made with Anchor Steam California Common Steam Ale' that at the same time he's saying 'Oh, lovely, yep, I love it, great', he's thinking 'I'd rather drink it, not wash in it'.</span></span><br />
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</div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I'm not sure if they come labelled 'do not lick', just in case, but they look jolly good and the shipping costs from the US aren't too bad. If anyone fancies joining me in a bulk order, let me know.</span></span><br />
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</span></span><br />
</div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I'm on the look out for other beery gifts that aren't too ghastly and which are allowed into our home (nothing with a big beery logo, branded t-shirts, more bloody beer glasses etc).</span></span><br />
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</div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">And if there are any beer guys reading this, don't get any ideas. We prefer our toiletries from (worst) John Lewis or (best) Penhaligons.</span></span><br />
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</div>lizvaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02334134462662109052noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6885077251053494944.post-52714267294691234352009-11-17T17:58:00.000+00:002009-11-17T17:58:28.061+00:00It's a dog thingFor those of you who haven't already done so, meet Captain. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiVMVJBl_qrnwcpuxEeqrwbTnQHX3QbnWibFekd_s8Jt42DIgb7MelbpQjMyhOrBlEARp03eZHTonK1o8uU5NndYT-0cQxvfOCXLLPn3tcYkADCZ6ACA58Q_EEj7JOgrAObcsWbaXMkU92/s1600/DSCF0247.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiVMVJBl_qrnwcpuxEeqrwbTnQHX3QbnWibFekd_s8Jt42DIgb7MelbpQjMyhOrBlEARp03eZHTonK1o8uU5NndYT-0cQxvfOCXLLPn3tcYkADCZ6ACA58Q_EEj7JOgrAObcsWbaXMkU92/s320/DSCF0247.JPG" /></a><br />
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Captain likes cheese, oatcakes and having his tummy rubbed. He's slightly scared of cats and does a strange little 'yip' when told to 'speak' for a treat. He doesn't slaver, bite, bark or growl menacingly at small children. He looks cute and when he's lying down he sort of spatchcocks his back legs and looks like a small rug. He's pretty much the perfect pub dog. <br />
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But it's still hit and miss trying to find pubs in Stoke Newington that allow dogs in. And given the state of some of them, Captain would be the least likely contender for the 'peeing against a wall' or 'biting someone on the leg' prize.<br />
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We've got some nice pubs in Stokey, and perhaps it's the proliferation of staffies with goons attached that's turned landlords off, but still... The slate-floored Rose & Crown? Nope. The trad-pub Daniel Defoe, whose previous owners used to own 2 springer spaniels who sat on bar stools? Nope. The sweet and, let's face it, not desperately chi-chi Auld Shillaleagh? Nope. The Three Crowns (ridiculously priced food, thinks it's in the West End)? Nope. And as they've just taken over The Red Lion and are gussying it up, presumably not there either.<br />
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And there's nothing more irritating than being told it's 'against the law' or a 'health and safety' issue. Much as Captain loves having a wander into the kitchen to check out the chicken situation (with his 'no-one loves me' face on), as long as we have a well-behaved dog who sits under our table, I can't see the problem.<br />
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Andy, landlord at our favourite local, The White Hart, has the best rule. Dogs on a lead at all times. No ifs, no buts. He applies the same sort of rule to kids, with the result that all are welcome, but have to be on reasonable behaviour. Perfect. We know that if Captain disgraced himself, he'd be barred. Same for Mr PBBB.<br />
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Anyway, if you're in the area, here are my recommendations.<br />
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The Charles Lamb, Islington - the delightful, if slightly portly, Mascha the pub dog even has hand-painted 'please do not feed Mascha' signs all over the pub.<br />
The Scolt Head, Islington (resident 1-year old Jack Russell called Monkey and occasional visiting small dogs Elsa and Podge)<br />
The White Hart, Stoke Newington- great beer garden too<br />
The Island Queen, Islington<br />
The Alma, Newington Green <br />
The Hemingford Arms (despite the brass sign on the door saying 'no dogs')<br />
The Albion - Islington's loveliest pub allows dogs in the front bar<br />
The Duke of Cambridge - organic pub<br />
The Spaniard's Inn - possibly the best doggy-pub ever, complete with gourmet dog treats on sale in the bar and a dog-washing machine (featured in Mr PBBB's blog when Captain was 'volunteered' for a Flying Dog photo shoot - oh how we laughed)<br />
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And do visit the <a href="http://www.doggiepubs.org.uk/index.php?leftpanel=yes&columns=1&supporters=new&blurb=yes&15=on">brilliant doggy pubs website</a> which has just unearthed some others I wasn't aware of. <br />
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Now Captain and I are off to the White Hart to meet Mr PBBB who's been 'working' there since 4:30. And I think we all know I don't mean pulling pints....lizvaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02334134462662109052noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6885077251053494944.post-82307324549183649152009-11-15T10:51:00.001+00:002009-11-15T11:00:57.925+00:00What stormy days are forWhen the rain's lashing against the windows and the wind is buffeting the city, there's nothing better than some methodical coring, chopping, mixing and stirring to make the most of time indoors. Yesterday saw my very first batch of chutney - a <a href="http://www.waitrose.com/recipe/Roast_Acorn_Squash_with_Pear_and_Kiwi_Chutney.aspx">spicy pear and kiwi</a> one courtesy of Waitrose Food Illustrated - and I now have 3 (there were 4 but I got all carried away and gave one to our dinner guests) jars of gently maturing Mrs PBBB chutney in the larder.<br />
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The only problem is that after I've given one to BLTP in exchange for his recently made <a href="http://living4pleasurealone.blogspot.com/2009/11/in-pickle.html">pickled onions</a> and donated one to the Welsh rellies, there's only one jar left for Christmas.<br />
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And I still haven't made the Christmas Pudding - the fruit's perfectly happy to continue marinading in the vintage Queen's Ale (I had to make Mr PBBB get out of the bowl) until we get back from dog-walking, then it's the Big Mix and all that boiling-in-some-water-mallarkey, a batch of Nigella's Chilli Jelly and we're all set for Boxing Day cold cuts and bubble & squeak.lizvaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02334134462662109052noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6885077251053494944.post-88320983780186031702009-11-14T00:20:00.001+00:002009-11-14T07:11:45.292+00:00I'm QueenBudge up, Delia, love, there's room at the back.<br />
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The last time I made Christmas Pudding I was at school and I grated half my finger into the mix, thus rendering it unsuitable for vegetarians.<br />
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This time things are a little more exciting, thanks to the divine Steve Wellington, who sent Mr PBBB back to London with a bottle of Queen's Ale, which is what Her Madge gets to sample in her very own royal pudding.<br />
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It was a touching hand-over from Mr PBBB, who obviously wanted to snatch it away and spend the rest of the year with it clutched to his chest, rocking gently. But hand it over he did, god love him, and it's now gently plumping up about a kilo of Waitrose's finest raisins, currants, sultanas, cherries and mixed peel.<br />
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I've combined several recipes, which means that either it's going to be delish or a total and utter disaster from which Mr PBBB will never recover (he'll be sucking the Queen's Ale from the burnt husk of the pudding way into June).<br />
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So fingers crossed for the big mix tomorrow. Tradition dictates that everyone who stirs it makes a wish. I wish for a non-beer-related Christmas present. Pete wishes the Queen's Ale was in his tummy.lizvaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02334134462662109052noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6885077251053494944.post-48116681273732230382009-11-12T12:05:00.000+00:002009-11-12T13:45:54.180+00:00We're revoltingPoor old Mr PBBB hasn't half had some gyp since yesterday.<br /><br />The lovely Mark Dredge wrote a moving tribute to his long-suffering girlfriend Lauren, which I forwarded to Mr PBBB saying something along the lines of 'this is what a nice beer writer does', although I may have also suggested he boil his head at the same time.<br /><br />Apparently I should look in more detail at the acknowledgments on his 3 books which 'go on in length about how lovely you are'. Hmm. That's all very nice and what-have-you but I think all beer widows out there know that one mention every couple of years is sparse recompense. A more regular celebration of our patience, fortitude and tolerance in the form of flowers, chocolate and possibly a small house in the Dordogne wouldn't go amiss.<br /><br />At the risk of sounding ungracious, being presented with 'beer I thought you'd really like' from foreign trips doesn't really cut the mustard. And it was a very misplaced 'joke' when I was given a red pointy promotional hat with a bell on it last time he came back from Belguim (apparently Belguim had sold out of ALL of the chocolate for which it is world-famous...).<br /><br />We can spot airport gifts at the drop of a (red pointy) hat and no we don't even like promotional glasses - however pretty their shape - though thanks for trying.<br /><br />I have the loveliest husband in the world and appreciate much of what beerdom brings. However, I'd love to hear from other beer widows (we hope that the lovely Melissa Cole's husband won't be offended by an invite too) so we can swap notes - I'm thinking shopping survival tactics, beer-conversation-stoppers and a universally agreed, mutually beneficial word for 'PLEASE can we talk about something else apart from sodding beer?'lizvaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02334134462662109052noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6885077251053494944.post-10852937934511916632009-10-20T13:27:00.002+01:002009-11-12T17:43:06.355+00:00Sisters in ArmsMore often than not someone at a beer event will say 'Oh you should meet my wife, you'd have LOADS to talk about'. Indeed we would:<br />
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HISTORY: Beer - a perfectly pleasant drink in the right context or the foundation of the modern world? Don't get them started.<br />
HUMAN BIOLOGY: Is there enough milk thistle in the world to counter-balance the effects of a night at The Rake?<br />
PHYSICS: The special bend in the space-time continuum that occurs between the start of a beer event ("I'll probably only stay an hour") and the crashing through the front door at 3am with a kebab<br />
ELEMENTARY ARITHMETIC: "I thought you said you were only having ONE?"lizvaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02334134462662109052noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6885077251053494944.post-81418128657948860022009-08-17T21:07:00.000+01:002009-08-17T21:29:57.961+01:00Romantic getawayWhen Mr PBBB isn't writing about beer, he's trying to be a travel writer, and as part of this package, I sometimes get to go to really lovely places. And sometimes I get to go to Blackpool. <br /><br />The last time I was in Blackpool, I was competing in some sort of Young Pianist competition. All I remember is that I played a Grieg sonata well enough to come 3rd in the age category above me. The girl who won went on to be Young Musician of the Year and a celebrated professional pianist. I ended up in PR. Go figure.<br /><br />Anyway, this time I got to sample the full smorgasboard that Blackpool has to offer, which, because I'm not 10 this time, included The Dream Boys (a tongue-in-cheek oh stop laughing at the back) male strip act with 'full nudity' (if that was a real todger I'm Thora Hird) and Legends (a lookalikey show that demanded 'no photography' presumably because they didn't want people saying 'he looks more like Neil Kinnock than Neil Diamond'). All I can say is that they were very enthusiastic and no-one fell off the stage.<br /><br />Astonishingly, given that Blackpool is the deep fried capital of that bit of England, I also managed to find a jacket potato with cottage cheese, a perfectly respectable spaghetti bolognese and a chicken caesar salad that was mainly edible. <br /><br />By the time I left, the sun had come out and I sort of got it. The sea's nice, there are donkeys on the beach, more 2p falls than you can shake your purse at and it's built for people to have Fun. But when the sun's behind the clouds, the wind is sand-blasting your eyeballs and everyone's shivering in their anoraks, it's grim grim grim. (If there isn't a hotel called "The Three Brothers" there should be).<br /><br />So, Blackpool is ticked off the list. Mr PBBB is still there and I'm regrouping before packing up for The Green Man festival in Wales and....no, I can't.....my fingers are seizing up.....I've got rictus.....GOING TO PONTINS IN PRESTATYN.<br /><br />And on that note, I wish you a peaceful and serene good night.lizvaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02334134462662109052noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6885077251053494944.post-15913412641689341672009-06-19T10:34:00.000+01:002009-06-19T14:00:53.364+01:00Slippery slope.Overly-familiar lunch scene:<br /><br />"Would anyone like some wine?"<br />"No I'm fine thanks"<br />"Yes, me too, water's great"<br />"I won't if no-one else will"<br />"Same here"<br />"Well I'm having a glass"<br />"Oh well if you're having one, I will then"<br />"Oh go on then, I will too"<br />"Well we might as well have a bottle"<br />"Oh that ran out quickly shall we just order another one?"<br /><br />Cut to night bus back to Stokey and drunken argument with self over the nutritional merits of a KFC value meal. Is it or is it not a pre-bedtime protein snack?<br /><br />Next morning cut to breakfast of omelette and chips. With gherkin and tomato on side, thus elevating it to a superfood.<br /><br />It's not easy being me.lizvaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02334134462662109052noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6885077251053494944.post-62981837957500389622009-06-17T10:29:00.000+01:002009-08-17T21:33:44.763+01:00I lost my love to a dark star trooperLife 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. <br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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. <br /><br />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.<br /><br />So there we have it. The sometimes lonely, often hungover account of life on the beer fringe. <br /><br />And please for the love of god, buy his bloody book and stop his OCD checking of his ranking on Amazon. Really.lizvaterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02334134462662109052noreply@blogger.com0