Saturday, 2 April 2011
B is for Beer
B is for beer. And Best. And Bitter. My favourite drink. In a pub, I wouldn't dream of having anything else (unless I'm driving). It has to be bitter, it has to be a pint, in a jug, with a handle. No poncey glass, and certainly not one of those half-pint specially-shaped ones they reserve for women. Sorry; for ladies.
My father taught me to drink beer. At the time, I was going through a Babycham phase. Can you imagine? Babycham. With a cherry on a stick. Oh dear.
Well, my father obviously thought oh dear too, and he didn't want to be seen with anyone drinking such a silly, amateurish drink, so he introduced me to beer. I'd like to say it was love at first taste, but it wasn't (is it ever, with the things that really matter?). But I grew increasingly fond of it, and it was a lot cheaper than Babycham, so boyfriends approved, too.
Tomorrow is Sunday. At mid-day on Sundays, a bunch of us fetch up at The Lamb (a proper, no-nonsense pub). I shall have a pint of beer. With pork scratchings.
(The photo is of the horse-drawn dray that still delivers Wadworths beer around Devizes. Beer and Horses. What better combination?)