Having visited numerous auctions in the past, it always strikes me as sad when you come across an ambiguous mixed-lot, usually packed in an old box and relegated to the floor, unloved and forgotten, yet the contents tell the story of someone’s life; things they used on a daily basis, pictures and ornaments that once decorated their homes, nothing of great value, but now silent and hoping to find a buyer for a few pounds. Look around you now . . . one day that’s what will happen to your world. Like the great civilisations of the past, only memories remain.
As with most young men, (and no doubt women too, but not being one and having never quite achieved a real understanding of the female psyche, I’ll just have to assume), life is for living, the future is for the older generation, and there’s an air of invincibility, especially when you’ve a few beers on-board, and I guess I was no different. Not the rowdy larger-lout on the street corner, no my drink of choice was Newcastle Brown Ale - sipped with reverence from a constantly refreshed Schooner Glass, available in the North East’s finest hostelries, and offering a certain kudos, in so much that, unlike the guy on the park bench, I had a life!
It’s just gone 9 o’ clock, I’m due at work for 10am, (had lucked into a Chefs job in a Country House Hotel at this stage in my journey), had been drinking into to the early hours, and I could now hear the sound of bells. Had I inadvertently asked a young lady to marry me in my inebriated sate, or was it the witnesses to my ‘Brown Ale induced stupor who’d come to wake me from my slumbers - thankfully the latter, banging the Kitchen’s finest cooking utensils. As an older and wiser . . . ish individual I can see the folly of my actions, but to rise and carry on with one’s day, outwardly showing no signs of the previous evenings excesses, set a benchmark amongst my peers that few could, or in hindsight, would want to obtain.
Nothing stands still, life moves on. Circumstances change, new responsibilities arrive and so the cycle continues. For me these adventures lay ahead. A journey through the World of Wine led me into business and travel, a brief sojourn to foreign parts, (well the South of England is a long way from Newcastle’), and then bump; Rome might not have been built in a day but when it fell, it came down with a bang! Once your world stops spinning, you look for somewhere to jump off, and what better landing than home. Back to where you have roots and you can begin to grow your life again, but would it have changed?
Certain things you can take as Red, sorry read . . . probably best not to bring politics into it at this stage. Some may say Tomato and I say Tomatoe etc., but Coals come from Newcastle’, and so did/should Newcastle Brown Ale. However, horror of horrors not long after my return, the news that my tipple of old and stuff of legends, was to leave its spiritual home and move south of the river. I’m sure Champagne couldn’t pop-its-cork in the same circumstances, that would be in-Seine . . . sorry, couldn’t resist. Yet, worse was to come, no not my jokes, but the decision in 2010 to close the Federation Brewery and move production to Yorkshire. To paraphrase a certain Meerkat . . . Yorkshire! Over 80 years of tradition and innumerable memories; those lost days from work, family arguments and fallings-out, general mayhem etc. - not everyone could be as refined in the aftermath of its consumption.
In contemplation, I remembered a long forgotten bottle of ‘Dog’, (colloquial slang for the aforementioned brew, this example being a special presentation from the mid-1990’s - no I wasn't the Mayor), sadly its contents, although intact were beyond contemplation, could I bring myself to cross the line and renew an old friendship? Well at currently £1.50 a pop (Asda, 15/08/11 - £1.50, 550ml) I’m game if you are. And, after all these years . . . yes, very nice, but not quite a ‘proper’ living-beer, unlike my current favourite Worthington’s White Shield, proof that the Corporate’s can, with some willing produce a genuine ’local’ product. Yet, its legacy remains, at least were there’s a disregard for the Health and Safety Brigade. No North East Tradesmen or Corner Shop worth their salt doesn't have one of those Sturdy Red Crates, from the days of its reusable bottles, and if that doesn't leave you with a leg to stand on . . . well!
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