This Government hates booze
The British summer has continued to thrill and frustrate at every turn. Thrill because anyone loving statistics will practically get a boner every time the weather forecast comes on and the forecaster explains that this is the dullest summer since 1882, or that we haven’t had a rain of frogs like this in Newton Abbot since records began. Frustrate because it would be pleasant to see the sun on a weekend occasionally.
Lack of rain has also had a profound effect upon my vine. Installed last year, I had great expectations of Jeremy, and he hasn’t disappointed. Earlier this ‘summer’ there were little bud things that I was assured would turn into grapes. This, I thought, was great! I would take the grapes, make my own wine and finally become self-sufficient in booze!
Thanks in part to the weather, the Gallo family don’t have to shut up shop just yet. I believe that vines, however hardy, really want to grow on the sun kissed slope of some Mediterranean country somewhere, with easy access to hours of sunshine and cheap labour during harvesting time as gang-masters beat the Eastern European pickers and gap-year students looking for an authentic travelling experience senseless if they don’t pick round the clock.
My vine does have grapes, yes. They appear to be perfectly formed, yes, even though I had a nasty moment when I saw them turning a dark colour and thought I had vine-rot or something (I’d forgotten I’d bought a red grape variety vine) but as to the size? I actually think I’m the first man to successfully grow raisins.
I have, as a result, scaled back my expectations accordingly. Gone are the plans for a 400 gallon stainless steel tank to hold the end product, back in come the glass demijohns as the fermenting vessel of choice. I’m also trying to scrounge those little wine bottles that they give you on airplanes. On the plus side, my label-printing costs will be much less than expected.
All this makes me feel like an outlaw. I’m not sure what this Government hopes to achieve by clamping down on the more sensible aspects of enjoying alcohol. For an administration that appears to chase popularity the same way a fat kid chases an ice-cream van, it’s odd to make having a quiet pint in your local boozah more expensive and less convenient while at the same time letting giant supermarket chains sell blue alcohol to youths who drink it on street corners. Maybe the Government suspects that sedition, as well as hops, ferments in the taverns of England.
Drinkers today are getting that same feeling that smokers got twenty years ago, with ‘no drinking’ notices springing up about the place. In a couple of decades, the only place you’ll be able to drink is in your own home and the only stuff you’ll be able to afford to drink is stuff you’ve brewed yourself.
English men will love this. It will turn home brewing from a smelly pastime into a necessity and will mean that they never have to take their wives anywhere ever again. It will also mean that every home with space will have two sheds, one for keeping garden tools, compost and porn in, the other to be converted into a small brewery tap.
Along with home brewing, the home pub snacks industry will develop. God alone knows how they make pork scratching, but I suspect all you need is a pig and a giant pencil sharpener, how hard can it be?
Men love making stuff. Recently, there’s been no point in making stuff because men used to make things like shelves and, er, other stuff. These days the demands of domesticity are a little more elaborate and it’s harder to knock up a DVD player in your shed than it looks, especially when you can buy one from China for twenty quid. If the Government thinks it will drive men to virtue by depriving them of their pubs and brewery beer, they are sadly mistaken. Rather, men will gather in their sheds, sup their home-brew and talk dissent. Until summoned to the house by their wife for their dinner.
Lack of rain has also had a profound effect upon my vine. Installed last year, I had great expectations of Jeremy, and he hasn’t disappointed. Earlier this ‘summer’ there were little bud things that I was assured would turn into grapes. This, I thought, was great! I would take the grapes, make my own wine and finally become self-sufficient in booze!
Thanks in part to the weather, the Gallo family don’t have to shut up shop just yet. I believe that vines, however hardy, really want to grow on the sun kissed slope of some Mediterranean country somewhere, with easy access to hours of sunshine and cheap labour during harvesting time as gang-masters beat the Eastern European pickers and gap-year students looking for an authentic travelling experience senseless if they don’t pick round the clock.
My vine does have grapes, yes. They appear to be perfectly formed, yes, even though I had a nasty moment when I saw them turning a dark colour and thought I had vine-rot or something (I’d forgotten I’d bought a red grape variety vine) but as to the size? I actually think I’m the first man to successfully grow raisins.
I have, as a result, scaled back my expectations accordingly. Gone are the plans for a 400 gallon stainless steel tank to hold the end product, back in come the glass demijohns as the fermenting vessel of choice. I’m also trying to scrounge those little wine bottles that they give you on airplanes. On the plus side, my label-printing costs will be much less than expected.
All this makes me feel like an outlaw. I’m not sure what this Government hopes to achieve by clamping down on the more sensible aspects of enjoying alcohol. For an administration that appears to chase popularity the same way a fat kid chases an ice-cream van, it’s odd to make having a quiet pint in your local boozah more expensive and less convenient while at the same time letting giant supermarket chains sell blue alcohol to youths who drink it on street corners. Maybe the Government suspects that sedition, as well as hops, ferments in the taverns of England.
Drinkers today are getting that same feeling that smokers got twenty years ago, with ‘no drinking’ notices springing up about the place. In a couple of decades, the only place you’ll be able to drink is in your own home and the only stuff you’ll be able to afford to drink is stuff you’ve brewed yourself.
English men will love this. It will turn home brewing from a smelly pastime into a necessity and will mean that they never have to take their wives anywhere ever again. It will also mean that every home with space will have two sheds, one for keeping garden tools, compost and porn in, the other to be converted into a small brewery tap.
Along with home brewing, the home pub snacks industry will develop. God alone knows how they make pork scratching, but I suspect all you need is a pig and a giant pencil sharpener, how hard can it be?
Men love making stuff. Recently, there’s been no point in making stuff because men used to make things like shelves and, er, other stuff. These days the demands of domesticity are a little more elaborate and it’s harder to knock up a DVD player in your shed than it looks, especially when you can buy one from China for twenty quid. If the Government thinks it will drive men to virtue by depriving them of their pubs and brewery beer, they are sadly mistaken. Rather, men will gather in their sheds, sup their home-brew and talk dissent. Until summoned to the house by their wife for their dinner.
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