Beer Has A Sex Problem

It’s never been able to separate sexiness from actual sexism. How can we change that?

Throughout this piece I refer to women—this includes and always will include Trans Women. It is also a piece of personal insight and opinion. Please take from it what you will and be respectful in your responses.


I’m a woman, and I like sexy things. Things that are delicious and decadent, things that are a bit risqué—things that remind me that I’m not a grey blob in a hoodie, that I am alive. 

There has always been a difficulty between treading the line between sensuality and straight-up sexism in advertising. Internalised misogyny throughout society objectifies women, and using their bodies to sell, well, anything you can think of, underlines the perceived cheapness of women, and their usefulness only as a commodity. The flip side of this is a whole demographic of men who openly despise women, believing that we want this objectification, that we desire the male gaze—of which they are responsible—and will do anything to get it. Either way, women come out right at the bottom.

As I write this, a Chicago house tune by FISHER is playing through my speakers. The femme voice over the top says: “take it off/slow/steady/undress/impress.” Even music uses women to feel sexier. FISHER is a 37 year old man. It’s not his voice. Yet I still like the song—it’s cheeky, it’s fun. I’m not offended by it, in fact I feel slightly energised. It makes me want to dance in a club wearing a sparkly dress. Have I been brainwashed by the patriarchy to want to dance in the club in a sparkly dress to songs that talk about getting naked? Or is this what I want? It’s so hard to tell anymore. Let me call a taxi and we can talk about it on our way over there.

I wanted to have a go at untangling some of these ideas because I sometimes find the sexism in beer arguments difficult to engage with. Let me begin by saying I completely agree that women are just as valuable within the industry as men, that beer is for everyone, and that as a woman who drinks beer and promotes it too, I have a responsibility to advocate for women within the industry. 

The way women have been treated in the beer industry is disgusting. Inequality and harassment has been more common than anyone thought (although, you know, people do talk about it if you listen), and women are still treated with condescension in beer spheres. We still feel unsafe at festivals, and places where high levels of alcohol consumption mean we feel as though we need to be on the alert around our fellow drinkers. I’m making allusions. You all know what I mean.

To promote women within the beer industry is commendable. I want to help in any way I can. But I also, parallel to this, want to protect women, and I want bigger issues relating to women in beer to be addressed and worked on before I encourage more women to choose a career within it. I want women working in breweries to be treated equally and paid the same as men. I want women in the beer world to be commended for their achievements and their skills and talent and chosen to be mentors and leaders within industry—not just added to roundtables and speakers’ lists to talk about “being a woman in the beer world”. I want people who abuse, harass and demean women within the beer industry to be held accountable for their actions, to lose their jobs and status, to understand that this is not an acceptable way for anyone to act, anywhere. I never again want to find a woman a job in a hospitality setting only for them to leave that job because a manager, or a colleague of any kind, was bullying or harassing them because they are a woman. I want women to feel safe and valued within our industry, and I want the same for me. 

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Customers don’t see this side of the industry, and so while it is incredibly important to me, I’m not convinced that the treatment of women within beer is the reason more women aren’t drinking beer. Perhaps that “laddish” image doesn’t work in beer’s favour for many people, not just women. But in a conversation with drinks writer Rachel Hendry, we both agreed on something: women who don’t drink beer want something that matches their mood. A drink that accentuates their style and punctuates their sentences. A drink that makes them feel how they want to feel. When I go out and choose not to drink beer—and I’m reminding you here, I’m a woman—it’s because I want something chic like a martini, or sexy and flirty like a spicy margarita. Easy-breezy like a vodka tonic.

Beer is seriously unsexy. Is that why women who don’t love beer for all its flavours and styles and aromas don’t drink it? I don’t know. Has anyone asked them? What do women want? As Rachel says: “To feel sexy! And strong! And smart! And sensual! Give me a champagne coupe!” 

Yes, there is a lot more to women than these simple, carnal desires, and to judge all women as one entity is futile. You know it is. We can’t understand why women aren’t drinking beer because we are guessing at what non-beer-drinking women want instead of asking them. In a study by Dea Latis, who actually have been asking women what they think, women were asked why they didn’t drink beer they said three things: advertising, presentation, and health/calorific concerns. Are the first two not what I’ve been saying?

I can only say how I feel. I am a bisexual woman in my mid (shut it) thirties, and I’ve seen a lot of shitty beer advertising that takes advantage of women for the male gaze, and it has always confused me. Yes, it’s crap, but it also finds a way to other me in a new, unimproved direction. I fancy women, so am I supposed to find this appealing too? Is that what people who love women are like? I know that more than once I’ve been offended, not by the pump clip or label art itself even, but because the beer was appalling. Boobs are too good to be used to sell badly made beer. I’ve also seen misguided attempts at bringing women into the fold by appealing to our “sweet tooth”. Absolutely get fucked. Am I angry about the assumption here, that women don’t like the taste of beer, or is it the lack of imagination? Maybe it’s both. 

I’ve been taken in by women-centric marketing too—especially in the wine and spirits categories. Rachel said she agreed, and that, “Wine and spirits are sexier and aesthetically pleasing, and evocative of desire.” 

Beer has never successfully managed this balance, and I have a strong suspicion that if anyone tried, women who like beer are so absolutely sick of being othered that these attempts would be shot down, no matter how chic and stylish and tasteful the design was. It’s an understandable reaction to years of putting up with this shit—keep women’s bodies off beer labels, keep gender away from beer marketing. But if we truly want more women to enjoy beer, to choose it in pubs and restaurants over the alternatives, we need to think about it beyond the drink and its social mores. I saw a t-shirt made by a Manchester bar depicting a woman relaxing in a huge glass of Delirium Red, eyes closed with pleasure, boobs out with abandon. I loved it, and wanted one of my own, and then I saw the comments underneath their Instagram post. “Disgusting!” I felt confused and guilty. This wasn’t a bad picture of a pin-up girl advertising a beer called “Daft Bitch,” this was a cute illustration on a t-shirt (designed by a woman, apparently, although I don’t have confirmation on this) advertising a bar I always have a great time in. I am still confused. Women who I respect have openly deemed it a disgrace. It’s a sexy image, but I don’t think it’s degrading—that’s just my opinion. I didn’t feel degraded, I felt like—hell yeah! Bathing in pink Belgian beer with my tiddies out! It’s pink beer summer, bitches! To delete sexiness from beer entirely and in every instance in the name of appealing to women and assuring our valued place within the industry assumes that women and their male allies aren’t interested in sexy things, only bad men are. And yes, if the male gaze is always the standard inspiration for this, then it would certainly seem that way. So, how can we include women? How can we make beer sexy, without being sexist?

“I think one of the only sensual pints being marketed at the moment is Guinness,” says Rachel. “The tension and the anticipation and the slow shimmer of the liquid.”

Yes, Rachel. Yes. Guinness seem to market to very separate demographics with incredible ease, but this is actually an unbelievable feat of engineering requiring hours of research, data collection and analysis, and many thousands of pounds in R&D, creative direction, and the actual making of the branding, the adverts, the posters, the bar towels. There are women in their adverts, drinking Guinness by the pint in the sun. There are luxurious close-ups of black-velvet beer glistening in perfect lighting. They know how to look classy, even aspirational when it’s warranted, and they can be fun too, and irreverent. Working with Co. Waterford-born artist Fatti Burke to create “The Snug”, an artistic interpretation of the traditional Irish Pub, was a combination of bright, joyful imagination and an abandonment of how beer is usually presented to people who aren’t already beer fans. Perhaps this sort of creativity is why 24% more women are drinking Guinness, even if they are shunning other types of beer. Meanwhile Guinness also manages to sponsor the Premier League, the Six Nations, and the Women’s Six Nations, appealing to people who don’t care much for olives in their drinks or Sabrina Carpenter. It’s not one or the other. Beer doesn’t need to pick men or women, and nor should it. But it needs to work on its image overall before any non-beer-drinking women would ever start choosing a pint over an Aperol Spritz, and it most certainly needs to stop asking “what do women want?” and actually start asking them.

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Postcards from the Isle of Man: Kerroo Brewing

Kerroo finally have a taproom and they’re making beer in it!

Kerroo Brewing, run by Nick Scarffe and Elizabeth Townsend, has been a brewery on the Isle of Man for more than two years now, but it’s only just got its own space. Despite there being quite a few unused workshops and warehouses on the island, it’s not easy to get permission to revitalise them.

“We started off looking at the former Manx Kippers place in Peel,” says Elizabeth, “but it wasn’t fit for purpose at all and the changes we’d have to make would have been out of our budget.”

Fortuitously for the beautiful seaside town of Port Erin, Kerroo finally found a home at the former Commissioner’s Depot on Droghadfayle Road—just around the corner from the steam train station. What used to be a garage storage facility and even a bin lorry garage is now adorned with the Kerroo Brewing sigil and furnished with a lovely concrete bar.

“We hate the floor but we’re going to be sorting it soon,” says Nick, to which I point out that I quite like the remnants of parking area paint. “It’s lucky though, we’re on a natural slope, so we just installed a big drain and away we went.” I had never thought about how crucial floor types were to a functional brewery.

Inside the brewery is Kerroo’s kit, a 1000L stainless steel beauty from Leicester with two 16hl conical fermenters bought from Attic Brewery in Birmingham, all shipped over the Irish Sea way before the brewery even had a premises.

“We just knew they were the right pieces,” says Elizabeth. “We had faith it was going to happen!”

While they waited, and waited, and waited, Elizabeth networked her arse off. Becoming a member of the Women In Beer group, she met with other women from the beer industry across the UK, and travelled all over Scotland and England to visit maltsters and breweries to gather as much useful information as she could. Both she and Nick visited Lakes Brew Co. in Kendal, Gan Yam Brew, also in Kendal, Chainhouse Brew Co. in Preston, and Rivington Brewing Co. in Rivington, Lancashire to chat about the intricacies of setting up a brewery and tap room. The fact that the brewing world is so open to collaboration and community support even during such difficult times for the industry is incredibly inspiring to me. That people still find the time to lift others up is wonderful.

Visiting the Kerroo Brewing tap room during TT practice week meant we caught them just before the mad rush of Port Erin Day (a day festival of food, drink, and tie-ins with motorbike-riding visitors to the TT races) and race week. Their hazy pale ale was a delicious burst of grapefruit and passionfruit, reminding me of Rivington’s Never Known Fog Like It, but a more sessionable, calmer cousin—one with a bite of refreshing bitterness and a little prickle of lemon zest left on your tongue.

Brewing hazy IPAs is a big step for an Isle of Man-based brewery. The Island’s beer purity laws, much like the Reinheitsgebot, were brought into effect by the island’s first commercial brewery, Okells, to prevent beer being made with inferior or unsuitable ingredients. Nick is making a fruit sour in his second fermenter, and pulls back a thermal blanket to show us its thick, bubbling, pinkness. He looks very excited about it.

“We asked if it was actually illegal to make a beer like this,” says Elizabeth. “Technically…it’s a grey area. I don’t think so. I don’t think anyone is going to prison.” All jokes aside, it’s extremely Isle of Man for there to still be an archaic pseudo-law hanging around that nobody really knows what to do with. There’s no way Kerroo’s beer is really illegal—but Dr. Okell back in 1874 wouldn’t have approved. Good job he’s not still around.

I was impressed by Elizabeth and Nick, not just for their brewing skills but for their tenacity. To keep the dream alive over all these years without a space to call their own must have been incredibly hard, and I hope that when they look around their airy, perfectly Isle of Man-quirky tap room, they are filled with immense pride. They should be proud. The more beer they make, the more full it’ll become, and I can’t wait to come back to the island to try some deeply criminal sours.

Follow Kerroo Brewing on Instagram to keep up with their story.

Postcards from the Isle of Man: Immigrant Song

They came from the land of the ice and snow, and now they love hygge and ice cream.

Everyone from the Isle of Man I’ve met has asked me when I’m moving over. I’m not sure how much each resident gets in finders fees from the IOM government but they seem dead keen on keeping us here.

The arguments pro-Island are strong. Davison’s is the best ice cream in the world. The countryside is stunning. The beaches are clean and beautiful. There are puffins (!) and basking sharks (!!) and wallabies (!!!). Trad Manx pubs are great, and local fruit wine is tasty. People here eat chips with cheese and curry sauce. I’ve fallen in love with the way one road will feel like the Pennines, and the next view will be Pembrokeshire, until the hedgerows move into wide, rolling meadows and you could swear you were in Herefordshire.

“It’s the winters,” I say. I’m not scared of the cold—I’m scared of being isolated on a rock for four months of howling gales and horizontal rain.

The answer is always the same: you hunker down and enjoy the cosiness. You feel glad you’re dry and warm. You can still go sea swimming in all weathers. There is beauty even on the bleakest days, they say. They are hardy people, even the recent relocators. I don’t think I’m made of the right stuff, the heather and the gorse and the mist. But they’ll keep asking. And I’ll keep imagining my cottage in Peel, windows glowing in the midst of a cold winter evening, the rain blowing in over the sea from the west.

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Postcards from the Isle of Man: Peel

Where a beach can be two things, and a castle is a bird sanctuary.

Peel, on the west of the island, is a Viking settlement and fortress, with a ruined castle and interior chapel still gripping to the craggy islet of St Patrick’s amidst the foam and spray of the Irish Sea. Once, it was only connected to the Isle of Man by a causeway, but now the Fenella bridge can swing open or closed to let walkers visit and fishing boats out of the harbour.

Here there are fulmars and gannets, guillemots, manx shearwater and even puffins. Standing with my back to the castle looking out towards Ireland, which was out of sight under grey skies, sea birds scooped and speared across the water, and picked their way across the jagged rock.

Waking up to the sound of waves is a luxury, and when we moved the van across town to the Fenella car park for breakfast I watched the crashing and spilling over the cliffs from my cosy bed. An update from Race Control warned of rain later in the day and wet roads from a dousing overnight, so rather than speed back to Douglas we settled in for a morning on Peel harbour, enjoying perhaps the only few hours of sunshine of the day.

Postcards from the Isle of Man: Finding Vegetables

It’s not easy to eat fibre in a world of burger vans, but I’m managing it.

In past years at the TT, I’ve been known to eat double cheeseburgers for breakfast. When you’re only visiting for a few days anything goes, but I’m here for nearly three weeks this year, and I don’t think my body can survive on alcohol, chips, and ice cream for that long.

I was absolutely jazzed to find a local fine dining curry place has a food truck at the Grandstand serving Indo-Chinese noodles with FRESH VEG in them. I saw them chopping it! With my own eyes! They also do a banging avocado and egg ciabatta in the mornings. I’ve been telling everyone. Nobody else cares. But I’m pretty excited, and their food is really good, so shout out to Kurries and Steaks for bringing proper food to a burgerfight.

Postcards from the Isle of Man: The Manxman

The sun’s out and we’re on our way.

I’m writing the first postcard from the Isle of Man directly from the ferry. We set sail 20 minutes ago and we’re already almost out of sight of Lancashire—although Barrow In Furness is clinging to the horizon to our right. (Starboard? Is that right?) It’s turned out to be a beautiful day. We left in fog and rain and now the sky is bright enough to turn even the muddy sea around Morecambe Bay a respectable shade of blue. There are people in blankets, but it’s warm. I think they’re used to the horrendous conditions abord the Ben My Chree during more natural northwesterly weather.

Another benefit of not being on the Ben My Chree—I’ve got a seat. The bar on board the Manxman is just as bizarre and pleasant as I remember it, and I’m sat with a Guinness at a little round cabaret table surrounded by TT hats, jackets, and fleeces and the people they belong to. Almost everyone on board is travelling for the races, and we’ve already run out of Norseman lager, the local lager brewed by Bushy’s on the island. By the time we get to Douglas I’m sure we’ll be out of crisps too.

ITV are filming on-board, and despite running into them on the top deck I’ve managed to duck them so far. If I find out what they’re filming for, or if they end up cornering either me or Tom, I’ll let you know. Currently they’re right behind us talking to someone about Dean Harrison.

We’ll be arriving in Douglas this evening, missing the first day of practice, but just in time to crack open a bottle of Chablis at sunset that Tom hid in the van fridge before we left. What a guy. Managed to get the van finished in time for the trip, and brought excellent wine along too. Is there anything he can’t do? I’m especially excited about the fridge in the van. It’s so good. I’ve never had something so luxurious. Imagine—not having melted butter and warm cheese to make butties with before a day out! Milk that doesn’t go off in a day! Amazing, amazing.

If you’re interested in keeping up with “our” team, we’re with the Team Kibosh and WizNorton teams, and Shaun Anderson who’s racing. Check the TT Races X account for news, and keep a look out for these bikes:

Crushing dreams

How Apple got their iPad advert so wrong.

Apple’s latest advert for the new iPad is a big mistake.

Viewers are complaining, en masse, that the depiction of musical instruments, art materials, finished compositions, and various other tools being crushed into one iPad singularity by a hydraulic press is deeply disrespectful.

Katie Mather’s The Gulp is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.

I’m really interested by this reaction. Clearly, Apple meant to show that everything you need to make art is held within the iPad. How this was interpreted was very different.

We live in a world where AI is touted by evangelist users as a way to make art without the need for artists. “It’s accessible for everyone!” they say, while also complaining that their prompts are more sophisticated and therefore make better results… No, I don’t get it either. Is AI being developed to make life easier for everyone, or is it just a way to make certain people’s approximation of what art is—a token with inherent value to be made and sold? I am an outspoken critic of AI, and while I find certain aspects of it useful in my other role as an SEO consultant to take away the monotony of repetitive and laborious keyword research, for example, I doubt I’ll ever be convinced of its merit in the fields of creative writing, painting, drawing, poetry, and music. In my opinion, it should be used as a powertool. It makes boring, labour-intensive jobs easier, in order to enable the creative and skilled work to be carried out by people who have the talent to do so. We are all good at different things. AI Art is not a leveller, it is a thief.

Anyway. What struck me about the advert was how tone deaf it was, and how this showed that everyone involved in making it—who must have been, themselves, in the creative industry—thought it was a good idea to show traditional creativity being destroyed by a single electronic gadget. It’s edgy, of course. But is it crossing a line?

The Japanese audience in particular thought so, with many of the complaints coming from Japanese accounts. Here are some of the responses on X (some translated by Google.)

“Many craftsmen value their tools… Musicians value their instruments, architects value their rulers, painters value their brushes and painting materials more than life itself. The video you presented “all in one”, but it will only disgust them. They may never want to engage with your company again. Your predecessors showed us their dreams, you showed us our nightmares.”

“I can’t relate to this video at all. It lacks any respect for creative equipment and mocks the creators.”

“It is a heartbreaking, uncomfortable, and egotistic advertisement. When I see this result, I’m ashamed to buy Apple products since nineteen years.”

“There are a lot of memories, emotions and spirits in there. These things are people’s ‘selves’ that have been smashed. You have smashed those extensions of people’s selves and made a thin, cold something out of it, so it has no emotions or spirits. “

Find more comments here.

Maybe they didn’t mean to make an advert that seemed to promote the destruction of craft, care, and passion. Unfortunately, that’s exactly what it looks like they did.

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5 Years of Pellicle

Proud member of your favourite independent food and drinks mag.

This week, the magazine I assist in editing, Pellicle, turned five. We’re having a party to celebrate this milestone—come along—but this week, it was all about sharing our achievements. I think Pellicle has earned the right to be a little boastful.

Pellicle was the first publication to take my wine writing, and was therefore the first place I was ever paid to write about wine. Since then, I have helped create and then edited national wine subscription magazine Glug for almost two years, and still write for them regularly. I have written some of my favourite stories for Pellicle, and their open-mindedness about how far I can take an idea has allowed me to stretch creatively, write personally, and improve, improve, improve.

When Matthew, the owner and editor of Pellicle, asked me to join the team as an associate editor, at first I was concerned I wouldn’t have the capacity to give writers the attention they deserved—I was still running my bar Corto at the time. I shouldn’t have worried. It turns out editorial work is as close to a true calling for me as I think I can get. I absolutely love working with writers to polish their work into something they can be immensely proud of. Editing at Pellicle isn’t a simple glance-through, neither is it a strict adherence to brand guidelines. It’s a symbiotic relationship between writer and editor. A beautiful SCOBY that becomes a delicious literary kombucha, if you like. I feel immensely privileged that people bring their best work to us and I can read it before anyone else, and then have conversations that might take that work even further.

Pellicle is fully independent and can only pay contributors and our little team (Me, Matthew and Lily) through generous donations, Patreon subscriptions, and support from Pro Patreons and our sponsors.

Please, if you value what I do, what we do as Pellicle, and the writers, photographers, and illustrators who we publish—sign up as a Patreon. We are hoping to put up our rates for contributors soon, and we can only do that with the support of our Patreons!

Become a patron of the arts—be a Pellicle Patreon supporter

I believe that Pellicle is pushing food and drinks writing forward. I believe it’s a special and important publication, unique in its offering and essential if we want stories about food and drink that don’t follow the preceding narratives of traditional media. Pellicle gives a platform to new and newly-discovered writers when others rely on celebrities and critics for their coverage. Pellicle shares the unique and insightful opinions, experiences, and perspectives of writers, not just press releases or reviews of the products they consume.

I am incredibly proud to be able to call myself a member of the Pellicle crew, and I intend to spend the next five years working hard to make Pellicle as successful as it deserves to be—as a publisher, as a platform for talent, and as a space for creativity and thought provocation.

Thank you for getting us this far. Here’s to Pellicle, and all who made it.


Buy Tickets to My Tasting Session at the Pellicle Birthday Party

On Saturday 11 May, the Pellicle 5th Birthday Party will take place across the Piccadilly Trading Estate’s rich seam of brewery gold. I’m thrilled to be hosting a tasting session at Balance Brewery at 2.30pm on the day, pairing their delicious beers with vegan nibbles provided by their lovely selves.

Please come along: tickets are £20 and you will get four drinks and four amuse bouches included.

Get your ticket here.


My Pellicle Pieces from the Past Five Years

The Iconic Holiday Radler

2% ABV, 100% joy

Last weekend my longest-serving friend (god bless her) surprised me with a short holiday. I’d not been away on a holiday—a proper holiday, where no work was done underneath hot sunshine—in years, and it didn’t take long for me to remember just how good it feels to relax.

I thought what I missed about holidays was swimming in the sea, and sure, that was gorgeous. The cool, clear Atlantic washing my stress away. But what I really missed was gossiping on the beach, or by the pool, or on the apartment balcony, a can of Tropical Limón in my hand. €1 a can, ice cold from the Superdino fridge, the flavour of malty local lager mingling with zingy, cloudy lemonade. Unlike a Bitter shandy, which is the ultimate northern post-hill walk shandy, this shandy is the only drink that perfectly matches the specific mood elevation of a Spanish holiday, the sunshine, the blue of the ocean.

I’m not expecting the weather in England to improve any time soon, but when that annual heatwave appears, here’s how to replicate that sensation. Get a big glass and pour in 200ml of lager, I’d say Northern Helles, or if you’re going authentic, Estrella Galicia should do it. Flatten the lager a bit with a straw, then pour 200ml of lemon Fanta on top. Sit outside and raise your face to the sun. Enjoy with ready salted crisps and the scent of sun cream in the air.

Katie Mather’s The Gulp is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.

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Every Sunday

A story about the people you get attached to at the pub.

On a Sunday, the New Inn is a comfortable place. The anxious pre-weekend drinking of Friday is gone, the busy Saturday night rush has long evaporated. Step into the pub at 4pm and it’ll be quiet except perhaps for the local Irish and Folk band playing in the back room—everyone else is at home cooking, eating, or digesting a roast dinner. Visit at 6pm and it’s a little busier. By 8.30pm, Sunday night really gets going.

I’m privileged to call myself a local here. I’m not really, I never will be. I moved to Clitheroe in 2012. Even so, I’ve been bestowed with the unspoken right to sit in the Front Room, the one on the left as you walk in, with its own side of the bar and the fire that’s most likely to be lit. I love walking into this room on a Sunday evening. Everyone I know from the pub is here, people I never normally see. Whether I’m sat with Tom for a quiet pint, or I’m with friends playing the limerick game (go round the table clockwise, everyone has to make up a line of the poem—try it, it gets super competitive and fucking hilarious) there will be folk popping up everywhere to say hello to.

My two favourite pub friends are always in on a Sunday. These days I don’t tend to go as late, so I’ve missed them. I’ve decided to make the effort to go in so we can catch up. I asked them if they’d like me to use pseudonyms for them. “Those blokes off the Muppets,” they said. So that’s what we’ll call them. Statler and Waldorf.

Statler and Waldorf, contrary to their opinions of themselves, are two of the friendliest blokes in the whole pub. They join in with our stupid debates. They shared genuine compassion and sympathy when our bar closed down, and they always ask after what we’re doing and how we are. The other week they saw me with a friend’s baby and got the shock of their lives—it was as though they were grandparents again for a moment. Their huge smiles and classic pub humour (sarcasm, dry comments) are exactly my cup of tea. I love to see them, and I’m going to make more of an effort to drink, not with them, but amicably across the room from them. Just how they like it.

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  • Join myself, Matthew Curtis and many other beer folks to celebrate the Pellicle 5th Birthday Party in Manchester on Saturday 11 May. It’s taking place between Sureshot, Cloudwater, Track and Balance breweries. FOUR VENUES! Who the bloody hell do we think we are?