Tonight, I bought a pint of Guinness with an identity crisis.
|The great pretender.|
It clearly didn’t quite know what it was, or it would have presented itself with different, more accurate branding. While I’ve not had an IPA for a long time, I know it doesn’t look like this; not if it’s been correctly stored. Anyone who’d been served an IPA that colour would be perfectly in their rights to send it back; it’s by very definition a pale ale.
Any more eagle-eyed North Hertfordshire-based readers might recognise the location of the photograph as the home of Mostly Comedy, the Sun Hotel. I went there tonight with my friend Stephen, after a brief visit to another Hitchin favourite, The Half Moon, on one of our infamous - or these days, infamously sedate - Old Man Pub Crawls, which in this instance consisted of two public houses and little more alcohol than what you can see in the picture. It was a pleasant evening, in pleasant company and pleasant surroundings, after a frustrating day, which was mostly spent editing artwork for my Brighton Festival dates, so I could get my printing order in before a cheap deadline. The reason for my frustration was I’d intended to spend as much of today as possible before meeting knuckling down on my preparatory work for next weekend’s work-in-progress dates; though in fairness, these things still have to be done. Thankfully, I’ve gained some time tomorrow to really focus on whittling down the material I’d like to polish for next week’s shows; I’m grateful for this change in circumstances, as it should help me catch up on what I felt was lost today.
Part of the reason for my late start was due to a chiropractor appointment this morning, which was nothing short of miraculous; I walked out of the clinic like a new man, though I know the tensions are likely to return in the next week or two as my stress levels mount up. If only they sold ketamine in more manageable doses.