The pull of a good pint
The other day, I complained that no one was looking at my photos. That’s the trouble with Flickr, it’s so easy to see how popular (or unpopular you are). Could it be that my black and whites were too arty? Or, more likely, that they weren’t good enough. I’ve been practising in colour, but I’ve only just come back to this black and white lark.
Anyway, I figured that the public weren’t ready for more black and white experiments, even if I have developed them myself and can give geeky info about the chemicals, timings and agitation if anyone asked. So I put up a colour photo, taken on my last trip to the UK, in a country pub.
People started looking. Within minutes I had a comment, then another and another. People whose photos I admired commented. On what is, as far I’m concerned, just a cheap shot of a pint of beer.
But what do I know, it seems to have struck a chord.
In fairness, it was a very good pint, and even at the time I drank it, I felt homesick though I was still in England.
It was at the end of a walk and a day’s photographing in the Peak District and it was the 2nd pub I’d been to that day. The first, though perfectly decent, lacked character. It had been taken over by one of those chains that are into food and offer ‘large plates’ and ’small plates’. Though it was probably authentic, the decor felt a little too self-consciously countryfied.
The second pub, The Millstone, on the outskirts of Hathersage wasn’t self-conscious at all. Furnished in a style my grandmother would have approved of, it focused on food and drink, not on horse brasses and the size of the plates - which were enormous and, according to locals, delicious hearty fare, despite not being billed as such.
I miss English beer - the unique hoppy taste of a lovingly pulled pint of Lord Marples. I miss the quaint English names, that make me feel so homesick and out of place here. Belgium comes close, with names like Morte Subite (sudden death!) and Kwaak, but for me they don’t compete with Bishops Finger, Flowers, London Pride or Brains. Holland has a surprising number of microbreweries, but names like Snaterende Arend just don’t do it for me.
If, when, I live in the UK again, I won’t be spending all my time in pubs. I’m not even much of a beer drinker these days (then again how often do I get treated to a glass of Old Peculiar?) But I hope I won’t underestimate the thing that I missed most while I was away - the humble British pint.
