Mustn't Grumble

I thought I would share a qoute from Joe Bennett a New Zealand writer who originally hails from Sussex. I appreciate his writing particulary the book Mustn't Grumble which is about returning to the UK and trying to hitchhike around following in the tire marks of H.V. Morton. From that book comes this little gem:

"The pub, at least, is incontrovertibly English - low, bottle-lined, the ceiling browned with smoke, the bar ringed with sticky stuff, and the barman aged and grizzled. In front of him stands a row of hand-pull beer taps like stretched pepper mills. I ask for a pint of bitter. The barman says nothing. He places a glass under one of the electric pumps.
'No, no,' I say, and tap the nearest peppermill.
'Aint got none on,' says the barman and carries on pouring. I meekly buy what he puts in front of me.
It's too cold to taste, and to sweet to be called beer. It's alcoholic lolly-water, Orwellian beer, fuel for loutishness, bad brown lager, a travesty of English beer. Its the sort of beer, in fact, the rest of the world drinks."

That sums it all up really.


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