Thursday 15 December 2011

Golden Pints


I know soon as I click 'publish' I'll start remembering things I should have included, but hey ho, let's go....


Best UK draught beer: Joint winners here. I don't want anyone to think I have a particular loyalty to my home county, it just so happens that this year three of my most memorable, almost tear-in-the eye moments, have been from beers from my own turf. 


Coniston Brewery's "Blacksmith's Ale". This one snuck up on me. Although I've been drinking various Coniston beers for years, This one wasn't on my radar. In my fifteen London years, Coniston beers were eagerly anticipated on homeland visits. I think that I had been reacting viscerally to its misleading description "winter warmer", a term which suggests to me, moderately-hopped sweet toffee-ish beers. In reality it's a copper-coloured ale with abundant hops. It's magic is in the way the flavours hang together and integrate as a  coherent intelligent magical whole. Borrowing a word from the wine world, this beer has "length" – its flavours develop and mutate upon every sip, it lingers, it slowly reveals new nuances. There is no greater complement for a beer – from me anyway.


Cumbrian Legendary Ales "Rothay Red IPA" – A new one. Only appeared in recent weeks. Possesses all the complexity of "Blacksmith's" but with abundant use of some kind of reddish malt and (I'm guessing) some rye. 


Stringers "Furness Abbey" - Splendid Belgie-esque cask beer.


Camden Lager. Hugely quenching, biscuity. Everything you need from a standard lager. Intelligently conceived. Properly brewed. Nicely presented.


Best UK packaged beer: I'm struggling to think of any particular beer that deserves to be singled out as overall winner so I'm just going to mention some that I have found myself making repeated acquisitions of.


Coniston's "Thurstein Pilsner" is misleadingly named; if it wasn't a protected designation of origin "Kölsch"would be more appropriate. Then again, no resident of Cologne would mistake it for one of their own. It's flavour is more savoury than a Kolsch. Whereas Pilsner hops are often described as "grassy" I might be inclined to described Thurstein's as "celery salty". And I like celery salt. A lot. By the way, according to Wikipedia "The lake [Coniston] was formerly known as "Thurston Water", a name derived from the Old Norse personal name 'Thursteinn' + Old English 'waeter'.[2]This name was used as an alternative to Coniston Water until the late 18th century."


Hardknott's "Queboid". Dave may be busy trumpeting about his new "Vitesse Noir" but I think this is his best beer.


Best Overseas packaged:


"Boont Amber" by Anderson Valley and "Anchor Bock" by Anchor of San Francisco.


Best Overall Beer: 


It has to be the aforementioned Coniston Blacksmiths

Best Pumpclips: 



Dunno

Best UK Brewery:  



Coniston

Best Overseas Brewery: 



Dunno

Pub/Bar of the Year: 



The Free Trade Inn, Byker, Newcastle and the Jolly Butchers, Stoke Newington.

Beer Festival of the Year:



GBBF, simply because of the import selection and that I get to see almost all of the friends I've ever made in beer.

Supermarket of the Year: 



Booths, but I really wish they would do more interesting imports. [Booths – if you're reading this – I am available for consultation]

Independent Retailer of the year: 



BeerRitz

Online Retailer of the year: 



Dunno, haven't used any.

Best Beer Book/Mag: 



Beer. If only it was more widely available and not so on-message of the CAMRA narratives.

Best Blog: 



For being an elegant writer and for not being someone who endlessly posts links to their own utterances on every bloody medium known to man http://www.beerbirrabier.com/


Not sure it counts as a blog but I rather like http://desdemoor.co.uk/

Best tweeter: 



Do me a favour.

Best Online Brewery Presence: 



Dunno

Food and Beer Pairing of the Year: 



There have been many. If I recall a particularly outstanding one I'll come back and edit this.

What I'd like to do in 2012:



More of what I've done in 2011 but with a healthier bank balance. 


Open Categories:-


Worst Pumpclip:


http://pumpclipparade.blogspot.com/2011/11/smart-brewing-company-smart-arse.html


Most Over-Rated Brewery: buy me a couple of pints and I'll tell you.









Saturday 10 December 2011

Heresy? (Hardknott Dave, avert your gaze)

I've tasted Hardknott's mad bonkers Vitesse Noir a few times now.

It has a fantastic complex aroma of coffee and multitude of malt nuances. It's a beer that needs sipping, it's so rich and juicy and strong it defies a decent gulp. Its carbonation is barely discernable.

So in the pub recently I quipped it would benefit from a dash of Coke. The veins in Hardknott Dave's neck bulged as he forced a laugh at my heretical utterance.

At home last night I realised I was in possession of some Coke (a-Cola, that is) and a VN. So an experiment was in order.

I poured VN into two glasses. One as a control, one to receive the heretical mixer.

In the second glass I started with Coke:VN at 1:1. Yuk. The Coke overwhelmed the beer and a perfectly acceptable soft drink was ruined.

I upped the beer. 1:2, 1:3, 1:4, 1:5, 1:6, tasting the mixture at each stage. By 1:6 the overwhelming Coke sweetness was suitably diluted whilst some of its carbonation gave the cocktail a lift.

Tasting the control beer in the other glass came as a shock; it seemed extra rich, cloying and intense. The mix was lighter and easier drinking whilst the VN's abundant flavours remained. But the Coke flavour seemed to fight above its weight. Further dilution was necessary. I poured the control and the mix into one glass. Finally it was spot-on. I guess the ratio was about 1:10.




Monday 17 October 2011

Clutching At Straws For A Silver Lining

I've signed the beer tax e-petition. I hope you have too.

I don't suppose that it will have any impact whatsoever, but, what the hell, we've got nothing to lose have we?

The trouble is, strong beer is a soft target. The bigger problem is that governments want to keep on being governments rather than shadow governments. In order to do so they must keep their voters on side by being seen to punish those core voters' "out groups" (psychology speak for subjects of bigotry or prejudice).

The core voters for the current government are Daily Mail readers (well, not for the Lib Dems, but let's forget about them, everybody else does). They're not a constituency known for letting facts get in their way of their opinions. Strong beer has no hope of gaining favour with these people; and it is these people to whom the government would have to justify a drop in duty on stronger beer. The Daily Mail would stir up a storm of wrong-headed indignation.

The problem is multi-faceted:

1) It's beer – this voter demographic is keen to be regarded as middle-class. They regard beer as a working-class drink and binge-drinking as a working-class habit.


2) It's strong – Binge drinking is spiralling out of control, is it not? (remember what I said about not letting facts get in the way of opinions?).


3) Al fresco drinkers are the public face of strong beer.


4) Much strong beer is foreign. The voter demographic is notoriously xenophobic.


Our defence has two facets, neither of which I fear will have much impact :

a) The duty rise affects beers favoured by connoisseurs who generally go home quietly, failing to trouble the emergency services. 

This is not likely to have much impact as connoisseurship is a euphemism for snobbery. In Daily Mail land snobbery is a very bad thing.

b) The new beer duty has a negative impact on Britain's new wave of craft breweries and pubs and bars. 

This is not going to create sympathy amongst Daily Mail readers. When the Daily Mail reports on binge drinking the comments sections fill up with suggestions that the breweries should be clamped down upon. Mired in a model that is at least thirty years out of date, the DM reader uses "breweries" to mean all producers and retailers of alcohol, any alcohol. Binge drinking is increasing so "breweries" must be punished.


All in all, I fear we are stuck with this stupid tax rise. The best we can do is to gird our collective loins for action about any further duty increases.

The only silver lining I can see is that higher priced stronger craft beer may induce the higher price = higher quality perception in more people.

This was the principal used so cleverly by the marketers of Stella Artois in their "reassuringly expensive" slogan. Psychologists and economists have repeatedly demonstrated that people prefer wine they are told is expensive to wine they are told is cheap, even if it is identical – or inferior. People want to be seen as demonstrating taste and discernment, and higher price is the biggest clue available that an item is superior.

This can only be good for beer. It may even draw more people into sharing our pleasure in beer. Beer may shake off some of its downmarket reputation.









Tuesday 11 October 2011

Some Armchair Beerology

Please take my survey:   goo.gl/gFYQo

I don't want to give to much away at the moment. I don't want to give you any prompts that affect your response, so please bear with the lack of info for the time being.

I'm aiming to get a minimum of 100 responses so please pass the link on to your beer-drinking friends.

Monday 26 September 2011

Craftiness from CAMRA or Daily Mail being it's usual vile self?

You may have noticed that I am not CAMRA's number one fan. The dogmatism, the prickliness, the thinly-veiled politics, the intransigence, the self-congratulation: you get the picture.

Nor am I a fan of the Daily Mail. The lies, the distortions, the misinformation, the racism, the bigotry, the homophobia, the misquotation, the sexism, the abuse, the entirely unveiled politics. They are all thoroughly taken apart by my favourite non-beer blogs: Tabloid Watch, Press Not SorryAngry Mob, Enemies of Reason, Liberal Conspiracy, Five Chinese Crackers, Buff the Banana and Mail Watch.


I know it's not good for my blood pressure, but I regularly scan the outpourings of both CAMRA and the Daily Mail.

Yesterday the Daily Mail ran a non-story about a non-contoversy (nothing unusual in that) about the Good Pub Guide charging pubs for listings. This isn't news. The DM's rubbish "story" also contradicts its previous glowing coverage of the Good Pub Guide.


The story is here. I've saved it for all time in Freezepage as the DM does have a habit of disappearing stories from its website when commenters point out glaring wrongnesses.

The interesting bit is the penultimate paragraph:


Could this keen pub-goer be the Iain Loe who is CAMRA's Research Manager and National Spokesperson? CAMRA are, of course, publishers of the Good Pub Guide's arch-rival the Good Beer Guide.

I suspect this lack of honesty is the fault of the Daily Mail. It has a history of lazy and feckless journalism and non-existant fact-checking all for the sake of whipping up its readers into false rages.

I suspect – and hope – Iain Loe and all at St Albans HQ are furious that the Daily Mail has brought their integrity into question.

Thursday 25 August 2011

Beer List

In the previous post I hyped up a pub beer festival I've had a hand in organising.

The good news is: it's going to be great anyway.

The bad news is: due to the remote location and short notice we haven't been able to get as many of my wish-list beers as I would have liked.

Here's the list (updated in real time as more info comes in. If anyone can provide any info on the blank bits please comment):



Thursday 18 August 2011

You are all invited to a beer festival I'm helping to organise

If you're looking for something to do in the forthcoming Bank Holiday weekend – look no further, there's a cracking beer festival requiring your presence.

It's at the Queens Arms, Biggar Village.

My role is selecting the beers. I've themed the event "Britain's Got Brewing Talent". We are busily sourcing beers from the more progressive of the country's craft-breweries. We will even have some rather interesting keg beers.

Here's the location of the pub. As you can see, it's a bit off the beaten track. I've got a spare room (single bed). Drop me a line if you fancy a visit.


Saturday 30 July 2011

A Bit of Brewing History.

I was in the Stagger Inn, Stainton a few days ago for a family do, making use of Monday's happy hour and two-for-one deals.

The food is remarkably good given the low prices. Coniston Bluebird could have been a little fresher and cooler. The coloured lightbulbs add nothing to the place except to make it look a bit of a tart's boudoir. Nonetheless, it should be on your radar for a reasonable pub feed if you're visiting South Cumbria. It's a couple of miles from Cumbria's biggest tourist attraction – the South Lakes Wildlife Park – where the food offering is abysmal, so it's worth making a note of.

Hidden away on the wall of the gents' toilets are two old photographs. They aren't dated but in the corner of each is the inscription "Bass, Burton."

I managed to get a snap of one of the pics, but loitering in toilets with a camera isn't my preferred occupation, so I left the second one.

I might be mistaken, but these pictures looked like very old, possibly original, prints. Does anyone know if this picture has appeared anywhere else? Have I discovered a significant snapshot of Britain's brewing heritage, or did they pick it up at Athena?

Wednesday 27 July 2011

Beer Festival Fun

It's that time of year again. The GBBF is nigh.

No doubt I'll be bumping into many of you at Earls Court next week.  If I haven't made your acquaintance before, please do introduce yourself. You'll find me not unadjacent to the Bières Sans Frontières bar.


I usually gravitate toward the foreign bars at the big festivals. So it was at South West London CAMRA's Battersea Beer Festival in 2003. The venue was Battersea Arts Centre, a short walk up Lavender Hill from legendary craft beer bar "Microbar".


I was there with my friends Alex (who later went on to run Microbar) and Sarah, a regular customer.


We spied some unfamiliar weiss beers which obviously needed testing. We ordered three different ones. The chap serving ticked many of the CAMRA cliche boxes – scruffy, straggly hair and beard, keys and gadgets attached to his belt etc. I used to know his name but it escapes me now. I'll point him a out at Earls Court if you like.


Anyway, he opened the three bottles. He handed Alex and me our bottles to pour ourselves. He took Sarah's glass and was about to start pouring.


"It's OK thanks, I'll do it myself"


"But it's a German weiss bier"


"Yes, I know. I'll..."


"It's meant to be poured in a particular ..."


"I do know how to pour it. Just give me the bottle"


"You know it 's brewed with wheat malt and special yeast that imparts..."


"Yes I know"


"You have to pour it very caref..."


"Yes, I do know. Please could you give me the bottle"


By now Sarah was reaching across the bar. Her hands were on top his on the bottle and glass and they were sliding backwards and forwards across the bar.


But you don't understand, It's a German weiss bier, You need to...


Sarah could stand no more. Her voice raised to a "don't mess with me" level she met his gaze and said:


"I AM FUCKING GERMAN. I AM FROM FUCKING MUNICH. STOP FUCKING PATRONISING ME."


He let go of the bottle pretty sharpish.





Tuesday 28 June 2011

Britain's First "Craft Beer" Bar

Just over ten years ago a bar opened in London.

Not just any bar. Britain’s first new-wave beer bar. Britain’s first bar, as far as we know, explicitly using the term “craft beer.” It was our bar. Me and my brother.

In 1998 I’d had a holiday in San Francisco. I’d gone there knowing good beer was available but expecting to experience the feelings I’d always had at home – constant frustration at the lack of opportunities to drink the stuff, and the thought that my interest in beer was somehow embarrassing and not to be mentioned in polite company for fear of being perceived loutish or nerdy.

I was staying in my friends’ flat in a fairly lifeless neighbourhood of car dealerships and furniture showrooms. On my first night in San Francisco, exhausted by travelling, I needed some beer. I went down to the grocery store on the ground floor of the apartment block. I discovered a range of colourful bottles and intriguing bottles. Result! That was the night I became enchanted by Sierra Nevada Pale Ale. There were also beers from Anchor and a number of other beers from Californian, Oregon and Washington I’d never heard of.

I’d struck lucky. The local grocery store had a good beer selection.

Well, I thought I’d struck lucky. What I found in the following two weeks was that good beer was everywhere. My initial find wasn’t anything special. These beers, and more, were everywhere. And what is more, the people drinking these beers were the very people that the real ale businesses at home found hard to sell to: young people and women.

This trip, and a return visit the following year, convinced me that the struggles and complaints of marginalisation in the world of real ale were simple failures of marketing rather than incontestable laws of nature. It’s that “narrative” thing: buy into the real ale mindset and buy the idea that good beer is a hard sell.

Back home Steve and I became evangelists for a new way of selling beer. We’d often mulled over the idea of opening a pub or bar that would do quality beer in a new way, ditching the real ale shibboleths. We wouldn’t be anti-lager or anti-keg, acknowledging that CAMRA’s proposition – real ale good; everything else bad – just ain’t true[1]. Beer would be on a pedestal, loud, proud and if you didn’t like it you could go elsewhere: there’d be no pandering to mass-produced blandness.


There were, and still are, lots of real ale pubs, but that model was not what we were about. We knew there were many potential customers who wished to drink good beer but not wear the “I’m a real ale drinker” rosette. The world of real ale has it’s own dogmas and narratives. There are the beliefs that it’s hard to sell beer to young people and it’s hard to sell beer to women. Is it any wonder?

Strongly influenced by the American craft beer market with its profusion of microbreweries, the prefix “micro” spoke to us. The beers we would sell were largely characterised by their relatively small-scale production. MicroBar seemed natural and it stuck. We knew a microbar was a one-millionth of a bar of pressure but we didn’t think it was a problem.

We started doing some research into the nitty-gritty of the business: leases, funds, licenses, planning permission, suppliers – anything we could think of that might be useful to know. I found myself become a bit obsessed with identifying the subtle factors that made a bar or pub feel right. I carried around a thermometer to measure ambient temperatures; I carried a tape measure to find the optimum elbow-on-bar height. I closely watched people’s behaviour in pubs.

We spent a lot of time in the British Library’s business section in its old site at Clerkenwell. We studied marketing data and publications. All the pointers were that our emerging plan was a good one. I recently re-discovered at notebook I was using at the time. In it I found some hand-written notes:

Keynote Premium, Lagers, Beers [sic] and Ciders, 1997:
“Consumers are now discerning. They are drinking less but are prepared to pay more for something which they believe is good quality”
“The demand for premium lagers, ales and ciders has been growing continuously for many years. The cynical viewpoint is that the UK drinks industry provided low-quality drinks for far too long”
“The market for premium beers grew by 20.7% in 1992-1996, mainly dark beers.”
“The brewers have recognised that the public houses created in the sixties and seventies are no longer interested in the younger consumer but have failed to do anything about it.”
“The creation of more interesting modern on-trade outlets for drinks favours the supply of new premium brands.”
“Mature lager drinkers are discovering new, distinctive tastes from brewers in Europe, particularly Germany, Belgium and the Czech Republic.”
“Consumers in the UK are clearly interested not only in premium products but totally new concepts and brands.”
The long search for premises began. We weren’t going to compromise our ideals by being subject to a supply tie, so leased pubs were out of the question. We certainly couldn’t afford to buy the freehold of a pub. We had to look at the kind of premises that would define our business as a bar rather than pub.
We had a choice: fork out a stack of money for the lease on premises ready to trade, or fork out a stack of money making a bare “shell” premises fit for the job. There were lots of premises available but few had the requisite A3 planning status. The ones that did tended to be existing business for which the “premium” was hugely expensive. Taking on bare premises then failing to get a “change of use” to A3 was too risky.

Many months went by. We researched countless potential sites but were getting nowhere slowly. We lived in the area that is either described as Battersea or Clapham according to the whims of estate agents. One day, on Lavender Hill we passed a To Let sign on a boarded-up shop site. It looked like a disaster area but we called the agent anyway. It was in a state of disrepair after a company had taken a lease with the intention of building a Bulgarian restaurant. In documents we later inherited, the named individuals have to disappeared one at a time. They had started work knocking down walls and tearing up floors but it seems the people named were spirited away one at a time. The site was back in the hands of the landlord who was embarking on a very necessary renovation. Although the place was a wreck the Bulgarians had done something very useful – they’d successfully applied for change of use to planning permission to A3 status. The location wasn’t particularly good – few local business to provide lunchtime trade, and a somewhat grubby little corner within an otherwise affluent district – but we beggars couldn’t be choosers. It would have cost about £100,000 more to set up in the honeypots of Clapham High Street or the Junction. We’d just have to cope with being on one of the bus routes between them.

Taking on the lease of business premises is rather like buying a house. It’s a lot more complicated than renting a flat; an activity it superficially resembles. The landlord had, in principle, accepted our proposal and those obfuscating parasites known as solicitors were let loose.

Meanwhile we had to deal with another set of obfuscating parasites – the banks. We were looking for a loan of £50,000 secured against the future value of the lease and the future business[2]. We approached several. To our surprise, one said yes. The bank whose name resembles “Twat Nest” would lend us £50,000.

This was September 2000. All the ingredients were coming into place. That feeling of “keeping the plates spinning” familiar to all business owners was starting to occur.

Establishing some idea of the amount of time necessary for each of the ingredients, lease, loan, license, and countless other things, to be in place was of paramount importance. Missing ingredients would create delays and cost money. We asked the bank how long it typically takes for all the paperwork to be done and for us to get our hands on the loot. Nine weeks they said. Nine weeks.

We could be open by Christmas, or so we naively thought. The solicitors did their usual trick. They ground to a halt. Sorting out the minor niggling points in the draft lease became exercises of great tedious and tortuous letter writing. Although some were very necessary, such as the removal of the requirement that the premises be vacated between 11pm and 7am, some of the more arcane details seemed designed by solicitors to keep their colleagues in work. When a point was raised a letter had to be written to the landlord’s solicitors. This would take a week. The chap who owned the company that owned the building lived in the Caribbean. The reply would take a week and more. It was as if email and fax hadn’t been invented.

December arrived and the lease was signed. The loan funds were nowhere to be seen. We embarked on the renovation with our funds. Christmas came and went. January and February saw the building firm embark on the transformation while we dealt with a profusion of red-tape tangles.

We’d asked our solicitor about the license application. With an admirable and rare candidness he told us it wasn’t worth us spending money with him – we should do it ourselves. How to actually go about the application took all our detective powers. I believe it’s improved since the 2005 change in the licensing laws, but under the old system there was no book, leaflet or guide. Gaining insight into what was required for a new license relied on quizzing the clerks at the magistrate’s court. Do you know what the “Proper Office” is? No? Nor did we. We envisaged Victorian gentlemen busying themselves issuing enforcement notices for the covering-up of piano legs. This mysterious entity was one recipient of the application. There were eight others. An application in nine-tuplicate.

One of the terms of our lease was that we had a rent-free period of thirteen weeks in which to prepare the premises. Plenty of time – or so we thought.

The deal we had with the building company was that we’d pay a third upfront, a third during the work, and a third on satisfactory completion of the work. In mid-February the second payment was due. Five months on from the Twat Nest’s nine weeks advice, the loan money still hadn’t arrived. The builders drifted on to jobs on other sites. It would be unnecessarily tabloid to say they “downed tools” but the message was clear: we carry on building when you pay the second instalment. The rent-free thirteen weeks had evaporated and we were nowhere near ready to trade.

Things got frantic. We pestered family and friend for loans. The Twat Nest had given us corporate credit cards. In a living paradox, in effect, we borrowed money from the bank that was failing to lend us money. They gained from extra interest of course.

The building work resumed. The site needed inspecting by the council to ensure the regulations were being met. We had two or three visits from a kindly fifty-something chap wielding a clipboard. We drank cups of tea and chatted. All the boxes were ticked and nothing had to be altered. Three years later Steve called me with a sense of urgency: “put the telly on; the news; it’s that building bloke”. There he was, top of the news and on the front page of the newspapers. He had been sent down for a very long time for a particularly nasty series of rapes of young women going back twenty or so years. I had thought of myself as a pretty good judge of character but this made me reassess. Scary.

As the premises started to look like a bar we started decorating. Next door was a paint shop. They provided test pots of paints and we decorated one wall with splotches of vivid colour. After much chin-rubbing, a three colour palette was decided upon: a rich plummy dark red, a sand colour and a pale grey for the ceiling. With the decorating underway a friend visited and remarked that we’d chosen the colour scheme of Chimay Red. It wasn’t intentional.

The licensing committee sat once a month. To get a license, all the paperwork had to be in place and the premises be inspected by members of the committee to check it was fit to trade. If you couldn’t tick these boxes, or you anticipated you couldn’t tick these boxes, your application would roll over to the next month. And so it was in February, March and April 2001 we watched the licensing session come and go. Thanks to the Twat Nest’s utter shoddiness we were paying rent on our premises while not trading.

In this period were on the phone to the Twat Nest almost daily. A poster and a leaflet in the local branch declared that business managers were based locally[3] and they were available every day. Fucking liars.

One day I rang the business manager’s office. The manager’s assistant David told us Brian[4] wasn’t in the office that day. Getting frustrated I decided David would just have to do. I launched into my long list of niggling details the bank had to get a bloody move on with. About ten minutes into the call I stumped David with a question he couldn’t answer. This wrong-footed him. Letting his guard down, he said “I’ll have to hand you over to Brian for that one.” Available every day? Fucking liars.

My advice to new business owners is to treat every interaction with a bank just as you would with an estate agent or used car salesman. I also suggest recording every phone call you have with anyone important and make detailed notes of what was said. You really ought to tell those you are speaking to that you are recording them, but if you are simply recording them in order to keep notes and not retaining the recording, who’s to know? In legal proceedings contemporary notes are given a great deal of credence – so make good ones about any negotiations you undertake.[5]

We started to recruit staff. Stupidly, we put an advert in Clapham Junction job centre. We were very specific in that we wanted people who could hold a conversation. As we’d be expecting them to be familiar with the beers they’d be selling, we didn’t want teetotallers. We firmly believe that if a customer props up the bar, he or she wants conversation and to meet new people; if a customer sits at a table, he or she wants privacy. The role of bar staff is not simply to serve and drinks; bar staff are the catalysts for the social interaction of customers at the bar. The bar staff would have to be able to hold an intelligent conversation and not be shy; they would also have to serve beer correctly. The latter is the easy bit. Our interviews were designed to eliminate the candidates who we thought would struggle with the former. The fools at the job centre disregarded our needs. Streams of people came knocking at the door straight from their consultation with their job advisors. It became annoying. We were spending time fending off people who could barely speak English and, to our astonishment, we even had to interview teetotallers – umpteen times we had people tell us “Oh no, I don’t drink, I’m a devout [Christian/Muslim/Hindu].” We phoned the job centre and told them quite firmly not to send non-English speakers and teetotallers. But still they came. I presume the job centre functionaries were happy presenting to their bosses glowing figures about how many people had been successfully despatched to job interviews. That the valuable time of business owners was being wasted didn’t seem to be of any importance to them.

Time marched on apace. The place was starting to look like a bar. After long days painting, sawing and nailing we open a few bottles and put our elbows on the new varnish. Our research into suppliers had revealed James Clay & Sons. They’d been round to install two keg lines: Anchor Steam and Liberty Ale, the only US keg beers in the UK at that time. Tentatively we sampled them. Yup, that’s the stuff. The Beer Seller delivered countless cases of bottled beer and we eagerly filled our newly-leased fridges.

May arrived and with us working frantically to finish furbishing. Soon we felt we were ready for inspection by the licensing committee. On Tuesday 8th May we dutifully attended court and went through the rigmarole of affirming and confirming our license application. The magistrates would visit the following day.

Wednesday 9th May 2001. Butterflies the size of pterodactyls fluttered in our stomachs. At 2pm two members of the committee and a clerk knocked on the door. One of the magistrates did all the talking. A big rosy-cheeked bloke, he looked no stranger to the delights of public houses. They toured the building making sure all the essential facilities were in place. “All good”, he told us, “you’ve got your license, the full paperwork will follow.”

Sighs of relief were breathed.

That evening at 6pm, we opened the doors. Customers arrived. They drank beer.

Two weeks after we opened the loan funds from the Twat Nest arrived. This was the middle of May 2001, eight months after we’d been told nine weeks. The most painful consequence of the bank’s shiteness was that we had used the working capital we had budgeted on. I still believe that when banks' business departments pore over their spreadsheets they conclude that bankrupting small business owners is more profitable than allowing them to prosper. A big launch do, advertising, a swanky website were sacrificed. Things were tight, and remained forever tight, but it was fun, as we did our pioneering bit for craft beer in the UK.





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[1] Paraphrasing Duke Ellington “there are two kinds of beer: good, and the other kind.”
[2] Eh, that’s what it were like in t’Good Old Days, before t’banking crisis.
[3] The business banking office was in Beckenham in SE London. That can almost be described as “local”. Later, once we were up and running, the business office moved to Hertfordshire. That cannot be described as “local” by any stretch of the imagination. We almost went to the Banking Ombudsman about this. I wish we had.
[4] Not their real names.
[5] None of this constitutes legal advice.

Thursday 16 June 2011

What's your take on this story?

Link: Grandfather upset after local pub closes down builds his own in his back garden.






(BTW, Warning, It's a link to the Daily Mail website. If you value your sanity do not stray further than the page I'm directing you to.)

To Spam Or Not To Spam?

Reply

Yesterday I received this email from someone called Alison at Roosters Brewery.

Everyone can send an email by mistake, but this didn't seem to be a mistake.

It looked like inept PR. 

I welcome press releases from pubs and breweries but they really must be explicit – an email lacking in detail and written in faux familiarity will not do.
  • The email was sent bcc, i.e. the recipient list was withheld. It is possible that I was the only recipient, but it is likely it was sent to a number of people.
  • The text is impersonal, there is no "Dear ...".
  • I have never ever communicated directly with anyone at Roosters. This suggests my email address has been "harvested". It does appear on the Guild of Beer Writers Website but it is disguised to forestall harvesting by bots. That Roosters are in possession of it suggest suggests it was harvested deliberately.
  • The text presumes that I am in possession of "pumps". I am not.
I suppose Alison could have been communicating directly with a friend or regular customer and mistakenly included the whole of the address book in the bcc field. If this is the case then, Alison, I apologise for drawing attention to your clumsiness.




fromAlison
to undisclosed recipients
date15 June 2011 13:47
subjectRooster Beer availability



All good here, hope the pumps are flowing well at your end. The Stars and Stripes is one brew only and it tastes amazing !
Talking of good things, if in the area go to the Old Bell Harrogate and order the risotto, and a beer of course. I love food, it was excellent quite the best I've had in years. Sent this out as it was a special, it needs to be on the main food list, I'm starting a campaign.
Rant rant, back to beer, have a great week,
Thanks as always Alison.




UPDATE: This email from Tom Fozard arrived today -




Hello.
Sorry to intrude upon your day.
No doubt most of you will have seen an email from Alison in your inbox yesterday. If you haven't already opened it, it was sent to you in error, so don't bother opening it - it's really not worth the effort. It was quite a dull email.
If you're thinking, 'Why are these people emailing me?! I wish they'd just leave me alone!', please email me back and I'll happily remove you from our database of Beer Writers.
If, however, you're happy for us to keep you email address so that, if and when we have something of note to let you know about, just do nothing.
Sit back, relax and keep up the good work!
Many thanks,