Every time someone asks me if I fancy a pint, it seems like a remarkably good idea, one that never loses its sheen as an original, inventive, exciting concept.
It never occurred to me before now that there might be three separate quite distinct states of sobriety – sober, la chispa (what we might call buzzed) and drunk.
This is not a normal hangover. This is something life-threatening, with a yellowy-green tinge.
And like all the best brewery tours, there’s beer at the end included in the €2.50 admission.
The Nordic peoples used to think of the sky as a giant brewing kettle. When Thor, the god of thunder, cleaned the kettle, all mortals knew about it. On days when he brewed, there were clouds in the sky.
It seems that Anheuser-Busch won’t be happy until they’ve bought everything, as though they resent the very existence of any beer brands they don’t own. And their dominance seems consistently to be based on money rather than the character of the beer. It strikes me that Budweiser is the King of Beers in the same way that Michael Jackson (not the beer writer this time) was once the King of Pop: self-appointed, with little basis in fact and with a knee-jerk response to legal action should anyone dare question their undeserved appropriation of the title.