Monday, 8 July 2019


No hurry today. I rise late and take my time showering and shaving.

I need some bourbon for the lads and wander down to the nearest offie. Not the best selection in the world, but I find something. For $20-something. Which is how much I love my kids: $20-odd. That's one less thing to worry about.

The first part of the walk to the offie is a bit weird, going under a huge motorway intersection. Don’t know what goes on here, but there are loads of empty fag packets and beer bottles. Including this classic:

It's after midday by the time I troll along to the convention centre. My only real plan is to watch Stan's talk on hops. A subject I realise I know bugger all about, really.

But before he's on, I've time to stroll around the exhibition and drink some beer. I have a particularly good home-brewed Imperial Stout.

Stan's talk is fascinating and I learn loads. When he's done I go up and chat with him. Then David Lavery turns up and we head off for some more beer.

I realise that I completely forgot my book signing. Bum. Totally went out of my mind.

Based on my North Carolina trip last month, many beer pubs mostly sell sludge IPA, sour beers with fruit and all sorts of other shit in them, and Imperial Stouts with all sorts of other shit in them. Truly a golden age for beer consumers. If they like drinking beer that's either half fruit juice, full of sludge or effectively a milk shake. The kids seem to love this shit. Stupid bastards.

The home-brewed beers at the conference, are often better. Not so much crazy shit. Even the occasional Dark Mild. I have one that’s so nice, I go back for a second.

I try to get into the Imperial Stout talk with David, but it's full. That's a bummer. Just have to drink more beer.

When the conferencing is done we go in search of food. Not that far, just to the Union Station brewpub, which is almost next door to the hotel. Much less crowded than yesterday. As it’s a pleasant evening, we sit outside. I have my first proper food of the day: a sandwich with a few chips. It’ll do. For the moment.

Sated, we return to the convention centre. It's Club Night and lots of people are in fancy dress. Very colourful and slightly surreal. I feel rather underdressed. I could claim I’ve come as a fat English beer writer.

Again, I keep bumping into people. Like Jack Horzempa, whom I know from BeerAdvocate. And Hopfenunmalz, also from BeerAdvocate. After a while, I need to sit down I'm feeling knacked and my feet are killing me.

I seem to have forgotten to eat properly again. When I'm back in my room, I order a room-service sandwich. That'll do.

Whisky whisks me away to slumbertown again.

Union Station Brewery
36 Exchange Terrace,
RI 02903.
Tel: +1 401-274-2739

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