I found myself recalling Mr Lightfoot's lyric as I mused over the notion of beer minutes. I've come to the conclusion that they exist outside the normal space continuim, in parallel pocket universies known as pubs. They must do, otherwise how else to explain last night? It all started innocently enough. A message from Eddie, the eager, legal, beagle. Did I fancy a little apres-ski? Still recovering from the excesses of last night and a hard day down the pit, the obvious answer was no. However, I thought maybe I could squeeze a dry Martini down, so just time for a quickie then. Lots to do etc.
Fast forward six hours, and we are being asked to evacuate the TS as apparently the staff have homes to go to. Not my idea of a quickie! Of course it was all Eddie's fault. He loves to converse on many topics-the Weimar Republic and German marching tunes of the 1930's are particular favourites-and so it was time passed in beer minutes. We saw several shift changes of punters from the early evening brigade to the one before home lot.Not to mention a guest appearance from Eddie's papa. Now it's not ideal to spend so long in one place, but we consoled ourselves with the fact that one barfly had been there since noon.
Beer wise we enjoyed Hopstar Winter Ale-surprisingly light, and O'Hanlon's Yellow Hammer-both at 4.2%. However, a special mention must go to Hambleton Bitter. This 3.8% was absolutely terrible. Hambleton have been dodgy for a bit now, but this sank to new depths. Strongly diacetyl with a hardwood finish, it was one of the worst beers I'd had for ages. How this got out of the brewery, I don't know. Anyway, they've had their chances, but it's a red card for Hambleton beers from now on.