So. What's Been Happening?

I've been away and busy with some personal matters, so while the odd Twitter comment kept me in touch while dodging rain in Dumbarton and Albania, I have spent a little time since returning, catching up with what's been going on.  The main chatter is about brewery takeovers - well nearly takeovers in this case. The airwaves are being choked by the dreadful news that one (more) of the darlings of the crafterati has fallen off the shining path and found itself in the arms of, in the eyes of some at least, an unsuitable suitor.  Yes folks, it's the Beavertown Show.  Now reading blogs and other social media, there is lots of righteous indignation as well as a smattering of insight and pragmatism.  You'll have, like as not, read most of it already.  Frankly I can't get too excited about it. I've only ever had the odd Beavertown beer and now, if predictions are to be believed, I'm likely to have much more of it available soon as the unsuitable suitor (Heineken) makes it widely available, but at a much smaller price.  Not exactly a losing position for most. Unless the recipe changes, but that won't happen, will it?

Of course takeovers are nothing new. In my time as a beer drinker I've seen many of them. The usual thing is that it will be good for consumers. Economies of scale, a bigger organisation helping out where needed and of course, the beer will be matched. It won't change. No Siree. But of course, change it did. Or it disappeared altogether.  So there is precedent, though then it was outlets (pubs) the predator was after, but now it is brand and volumes.  The fundamental reason remains the same - to protect and increase market share - whether by acquisition and absorption - or by owning the production one way or another. Elimination of the opposition is the name of the game I reckon. Mind you, in a lot of cases in the bad old days, it wasn't usually a marriage of convenience, but a shotgun wedding, the bride having been knocked up by the suitor by way of a hostile takeover. Nowadays, the complaint seems to be that the bride was busy behind the scenes prettying up for marriage and making herself a "catch". Same outcome, but usually given the ownership, a willing partnership.

Having read quite a few comments, I'd recommend Roger Protz's take. He's seen it all before and I reckon he has the right of it. My comment on Twitter and Roger's response is reproduced below.

Thanks. Well put: "Look at the history and follow the money."

— Roger Protz (@RogerProtzBeer) June 25, 2018

A final thought from me. Business is business, though the ambition to build something called (slightly pornographically) Beaverworld is given as the reason for this. Oh and a shiny new 270,000 barrel brewery as a competitor might well explain the outrage by some. In the real world though there is still plenty decent beer to go at, so move along. Nothing much to see - for the time being at least.

Another thing to catch my eye is the carbon dioxide (CO2) shortage.  CO2  is needed in reasonable sized breweries for many things other than injecting it into beer, so it might affect some of us a bit. I think though this is more good headline stuff than a real worry. CO2 will be back in a gas bottle near you soon.

Right.That's under my belt. Think I'll go to the pub tonight and see if the Beavertown is on offer yet. 


Two beers that both required CO2 are shown to illustrate this article.  One is craft and was reassuringly expensive. The other was Albanian and therefore wasn't.

 I do feel the pain of some. My beloved Higsons Bitter has gone forever. It still hurts.

Old Style Drinking in Liverpool

I met one of my oldest friends for a few beers in Liverpool yesterday.  John now lives in Australia, but comes to see his elderly mother once a year or so. We always meet up and chat about what we are doing now and of course our times boozing, playing football, darts and the like in Scousley 30 odd years ago. It is a lot of fun.

Less fun was the Northern train journey to Liverpool.  Bad enough having to use that useless shower - I've already experienced their gross incompetence first hand while changing trains at Preston in my recent frequent trips to Scotland. Listening to the litany of cancelled trains as well as enduring their inherent inability to run a train on time has given me a healthy dislike of the company. And that's even before you suffer their wretched Class 142s, built over 40 years ago. Bloody boneshakers.

Yesterday's trip was by no means enhanced by the closure of Lime St station for upgrade. This meant a change at Liverpool South Parkway and a Merseyrail train to Moorfields, so we arranged to meet at an old haunt, the Lion, handy for the station and a fine traditional, corridored, multiroomed pub in which we originally drank Walkers, but now has many taps to choose from. At lunchtime, the pub being in Liverpool's business area, was actually fairly quiet, but a few diehards in suits gave it some atmosphere. Despite my two hour journey, I was early, so found a prime spot where I could watch the workers scurrying out for lunch and, with a pint of Peerless and the Times crossword, I was pretty much happy.  John, who has become an Australian Rugby League fan in his exile arrived a little late having persuaded some sports bar or other to beam in an important game live from Sydney. His team had won and after greeting him and a mate who I knew of, but hadn't met, we settled down to drink and chat.

I hadn't really liked my first beer enough to order a second, so changed to First Chop Hop. The boys ordered the same and we got on with the serious business of supping ale and chatting. Time flew and one round, melted into another. We considered moving to a different pub, but all agreed we were just fine where we were.  Pints mounted up and mostly we had the pub to ourselves, with the barman pitching in now and then to avoid boredom. Eventually around seven o'clock I decided I'd better get back to Manchester.  We'd been there, putting the world right for about five and half hours.  We stuck with the same round throughout and all left, pleasantly buzzed, but not at all drunk. Me for a further two hours on the train and the lads to get a bus home.

Later in Middleton, E met me off my bus from Manchester. "Thought you'd be pissed" she said. "Not me" I replied. And surprisingly, despite a certain nine pints, I wasn't.


4.1% beer drunk at a rate of around a pint every half hour was the kind of old fashioned steady drinking which is less frequent now. Not chopping or changing was refreshing in its own way and is to be recommended, even if the quantity isn't! 

Both Merseyrail trains were on time. I'd also forgotten how big and deep underground Moorfields is. Liverpool South Parkway was also rather impressive and larger than I'd imagined. I come from a railway family and like these sort of things.