Monday, September 10, 2001

To say that there are some people who shouldn't be allowed within a thousand miles of a Beer Festival is perhaps overstating the case - certainly, if I'd been a little warmer, I might have been able to stay longer. But it is an inherent fact of life that if you don't like beer (and I don't), then the entire focus of a Beer Festival is distorted. The Eastern European one was the last (I hope) of a long line of attempts to get me interested in this subject; its dismal failure will, I hope, act as a fairly strong indication that it's just a waste of time and money to encourage me to attend. So I got drunk instead - in my own way, with a sugar overrush. Two pecan cookies, four French Fancies, two cups of chocolate and some sloppy tv. The last straw was the live music which was precisely identical, down to the song sheets, to the stuff played for the Belgian Beer Festival. I had hoped for a gypsy violionist or two to accompany my vegetable goulash, and, anyway, since when was "Swinging Safari" even European?

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