Untitled Document

There Comes A Time

There comer a time in the life of every lover of Real Ale when a man needs to sit back and calmly and dispassionately take stock of his life to date. It can be a painful business.

The list of sin and omissions is bound to be long as it is, in all truthfulness, for dedicated followers of the Ladle’s Synchronized Beer Drinking Team.
It behooves us, therefore, to be prudent and prepare ourselves for “Time Gentlemen Please”.

Such an opportunity came my way when I was stranded in York awaiting transport back to civilization, which the sad but classical educated Innersole explains so aptly as: “the archetypical cock up of all time”

I was in the waiting room of York Railway Station idly applying lighted 5 Euro notes into the turn-ups of stray American tourists when it came to me like an icy dagger of fear that strikes a man on hearing “Time Gentlemen please.”

I was getting slow.

My approach to the bar is shorter but takes longer.

I suffer from R.S.I. in my right arm from lifting full pint glasses; activity around the waistline has increased ten fold.

And what had I done with my life?

I have spent many happy evening playing Darts, Pool or cribbage in the service of my local. I am! Brand Loyal”.

I once owned a collection of Beer Mats totaling several hundreds. I once had a fight with Kevin White a local boxer who latter became a close neighbour of mine. Could a man face the Head Brewer with that as a complete list of his life’s achievements and expect to be given the keys of the cellar.

I think not!

Home