I love reading the beer blogs and I love the fact that people seem to care so passionately about whatever floats there boat. Whether it's a new wave of craft brewing, maintaining a tradition of cask ale, getting excited about undrinkable grog with an unpleasant amount of hops, arguing about CAMRA, whatever, it’s all good.
What I enjoy is getting pissed. I love it, it’s great. Usually it’s just getting slightly pissed as since going out with her, the squeeze has been successful in knocking on the head my previous propensity to get smashed, but even so getting slightly pissed is fun. It means I can still enjoy a little romance and I am free of a hangover the next day. It might even be better for my health, but I’m not convinced.
The joy of getting pissed can appear I think sometimes to be “undiscerning”, that one doesn’t care what one gets pissed on, but nothing could be further from the truth. Certainly one has to factor cost into the equation but cost is but one factor. The grog has to be drinkable and leave you the next day with the least possible hangover. I’m not convinced by those that strongly rate one beer style over another for this, the evidence is anecdotal and I strongly believe you have to get pissed on lots of different things before discovering your own personal nirvana, then buying it cheaply from Tesco.
For my delicate constitution the substance I have found I can drink in greatest quantity and feel okay the next day would be the Helles bier of south Germany. I once woke up on a pals couch in Schwabing and felt slightly rough and uncertain where I was. Not hung-over, but a bit tired and dehydrated. I worked out what I’d necked the night before and quite frankly it would have killed an Elephant. We’d spent the day in the beer gardens and the night in the bars. There were photo’s taken on phones of dancing with girls that I was keen the squeeze didn’t see. Let’s not trouble her with that and let’s not have questions that need answers. I have done similar in the UK but arguably felt rougher on a smaller consumption, whether I was necking cask ale or cooking lager. For the record I’ve found little difference in the hangover potential of either cask beer or keg lager but keg smooth bitter is Satan incarnate for entering the depths of hell the following morning. On beer vs. wine, wine is all too easy to drink in a quantity that can leave you in bed until 4pm the following day vowing never to touch it again.
The worst hangovers I’ve have always come from strange local spirits. Necking moonshine from a jam jar with American rednecks after several pitchers of the cheapest domestic lager left me closest not only to death but wishing for death. My most stark memory of the evening was having a go at George Formby’s “When I’m cleaning windows”, on a drinking associates banjo (he didn’t have a ukulele) and being told the best place in England was “Scotchland”. I told him the best place in America was Sarah Michelle Gellar. By comparison fermented yaks milk is a delightful way of getting pissed even if it tastes foul. Sangria is another substance that I have banned from my body, it is neither big nor clever to neck several jugs of it and go on a donkey ride. Egyptian vodka & Egyptian Stella have the wonderful effect of keeping you drunk even when you wake up at 5am to go see some ancient historical crap the most interesting fact of which is that Roger Moore made a Bond film there. The hangover kicks in about noon and 2 bottles of the ice cold Stella calms it nicely. On a weekend in Dublin I discovered if no liquid but Guinness passes your lips, your poo turns jet black. My biggest problem is that whilst reasonably travelled for a working class northern pisshead I’ve not been everywhere. I need to get pissed everywhere in the world before making any sort of judgement on what is the best thing to get pissed on.
As a result you can imagine I care little for whether Brewdog Punk IPA tastes better in cans or bottles. I’m sure both are nice, in what form is it the cheapest and how will I feel the morning after necking a skinful of the stuff? These are questions that need answering. Until then I have a quiet weekend of moderate sobriety because the following weekend a pal is visiting England from Germany. I have permission to get proper trollied. He’s a bit of an Anglophile and likes pongy cask ale. I’m taking him around the bars all the nice beer bloggers showed me on the last twissup as they seemed to be nice places to neck pong. I might join him in that or I might neck an ice cold fizzy lout, who’s to say? As darkness falls we will be drawn like moths to the light of bars where dancing and pretty girls reside. I shall behave myself.
At no point will I comment on the bitterness, hopping rate or condition of any grog I throw down me. I shall not take a pint back nor talk about any of the beer other than “this is okay, not sure about this one” I shall enjoy the company of a friend I haven’t seen for a couple of months and we shall get proper pissed. Proper good style pissed. Because getting pissed is great and getting pissed is what beer is for