The Village Drunk

I’m hosting a brewer from out of town at a local bar, punters have gathered to try the brewers new Dunkelwiezen and tank samples of stout, all is going well until up to bar he lumbers, wild eyed unsteady on his feet , in one hand a pint of double IPA the other flailing around like a drunk cowboys revolver. Through squinty eyes he demands to know what the brewer does, ‘brew’ he replies , I step in and take the fall as the brewer moves on to more reasonable punters. It begins

“they need more beer like this in London,” He says motioning to the nearly empty ‘pint’ of 8.5% American hopped ale.

“its all like DB and Lion over there , cept its Greene King and Fullers, biggest brewers in UK you know, all crap like Waikato draught, no hint of malt or barley or hops, nothing like this” The bar staff serve him another, I wish they wouldn’t.

He has hit his stride now, sentences are repeated verbatim directly after they have been spoken.

“London Pride , its just like Tui” I bite my tongue , many are looking on, my sacrifice noted. I make my escape there are tank samples of stout to dispense, by the time I have returned to the front of the bar he has swaggered off into the rear room to impart his wisdom on someone else. The night continues.