Tag: beer

Burning Stuff

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There can be something enjoyable about the more primitive pursuits. I have a few pallets of old stuff made of paper than can’t be thrown away and needs to be destroyed. Nothing dodgy of course, it’s just better to destroy some things. We have been trying to think of a good way of doing this without buying a shredder and it just dawned on me that I can build a big fire in the woods behind my house and spend a good few hours burning things and drinking beer. The drinking beer part is probably not the factor integral to the primitive pleasures but for sure there is a lot to be said for making a big fire and just burning stuff. I accept this could be because I grew up in the countryside and there is always stuff to burn, it just feels natural. We had an open fire and then a wood burner in the house, raked up leaves needed burning, old branches cut down and so on. There’s always something to burn and I have so many fond memories of standing outside with either one of my parents trying to control this huge bonfire, failing to avoid the smoke that seems to follow you and risking third degree burns just to push a branch into a slightly better burning position. I’m genuinely excited about the prospect of this big fire.

For those not familiar with Scotland they needn’t worry about me burning down the forest. I could make a fire and not bother clearly any old foliage around it, cover it in petrol, leave it and come back hours later, and the only danger will be that it has gone out. We don’t get forest fires where I am, the constant risk of rain renders everything inflammable. For those familiar with the dangers to hedgehogs and other hibernating animals then don’t worry I am clearly aware of this as a thing and will check any piles of branches and leaves nearby or where I burn. No hedgehog will die on my watch.

As I said though there is a real pleasure in burning stuff. Obviously from the parents stuff above there is an emotive connection. There is the warmth from the fire which makes caveman me feel safe. There is the need to destroy and out of that the necessity to understand and observe the cycle of destruction and creation as the ash fertilises the forest. There is the satisfaction of ticking something off the list of things that have been getting in my way for a long time too. And let’s be honest there’s the excuse to stand around and stare at the flames while drinking beer which feeds a need to drink beer and stand around staring at things. Why we don’t make more fires I really don’t know, there clearly are no downsides to it what so ever.

Resolutions Update 2.0

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Part of my resolutions are about to begin. My friend owns some exercise equipment and I’m going to use some ski machine thing I think, or at least something which he says is going to probably make me sick from the twenty minutes of effort I have promised him. The reason sick is actually a good thing for once is that as a result of my attempts at beer making I have not been too far from the toilet these last few days. If this continues I may be writing a piece soon detailing a salt water cleanse, or at least the benefits of it, over the intimate details of the procedure. My friend also drank the beers on Saturday but was sick on Sunday and seemingly felt better after. I unfortunately trained myself when younger not to be sick which can be good when drinking and smoking excessively but along closing the heart chakra apparently, which is perhaps a story for another time, it does mean that my body doesn’t necessarily expel poisons by vomiting in times it should. This attempt at doing some crazy amount of exercise when already feeling a bit weak and ill is completely the most ridiculously illogical approach and reminiscent of tv series from my youth like Jackass or Dirty Sanchez. I am though willing to give it a shot because while I doubt it’ll actually make my sick, I know it is at least an opportunity at making a start on my resolutions and I’ve passed up on far too many chances already. I am though losing weight by being ill so at least the belly is slightly shrinking. Does that mean I am inadvertently sticking to my resolutions? Only in the most perverse of ways. I also accept fully that nothing I say in any articles after this one can be taken with any seriousness and I may have completely destroyed any sense of credibility I have had the good fortune to acquire these last two months. But fuck it, here goes nothing….

…If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs is a line from a poem by Wilfred Owen about the folly of patriotic war and death, this line about the effects of chlorine gas during the First World War. It feels comparable to what I can taste in my mouth now. That old familiar taste of iron. The stabbing sensation in the ears and the throbbing of the head. My legs feel like jelly and either I’ve got cramp or I’ve hurt my hamstring but I completed twenty whole minutes of surprisingly gruelling exercise skiing, running with some bag on my back, lifting some heavy ball repeatedly and doing push ups. I didn’t vomit, I knew I never would despite the silliness of the first paragraph. I should be proud of myself apparently. I’ll let you know tomorrow if I manage to scrape myself off the floor.

The Yin Yang Brewery

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The beer didn’t brew properly. It is unclear at which point it went wrong but certainly it didn’t carbonate although I doubt that was all. In two bottles I used honey instead of the sugar they provided and they nearly exploded when I opened them, although they still tasted like shit. It is possible that the beer wasn’t kept warm enough, the instructions that came with it suggested keeping it at 18-20 degrees but I found things online suggesting 20-22 degrees so that may have been an issue. I also didn’t properly use the little oxygen / carbon dioxide thing, which has a proper name that I can’t remember, but which you put in the little hole at the top of the fermenting barrel. There were no instructions on it with the brewing kit as a whole so I just put it in place but discovered halfway through the brewing process that it was supposed to have either distilled water or some spirit to help filter the air going in and out. I put whisky in it but it may have been too late. I did notice on about day two that something had happened with the fermentation process and it seemed like it had risen pretty high so maybe that thing without liquid was an issue. Saying that it did ferment I think because the barrel was full of yeasty dough like gunk at the bottom so something happened.

Clearly then it could have been many things but what I am left with now is this sickly liquid, not thick like syrup but it seems as if it would like to become so. The two bottles which I used honey as the sugar are now gone, one partly over the wall, sink and table top as I opened it and the rest in my belly. There was one bottle which seemed to carbonate slightly using the sugar they gave, that is also now drunk as is one of the sickly sugary bottles that didn’t work. I suspect then that the rest will be going straight down the drain which is a terrible shame but the inevitable conclusion to a failed attempt.

Is this the end of my beer making career, most likely not but that will probably be down to whether I view it as an obstacle in the road or an experience to learn more, which would ultimately make it a success. That then would be the lesson we could learn from every situation that doesn’t work out as we had initially thought and hoped it would. These moments are not failures, but opportunities, now you know more about what you are trying to achieve and yourself in the the process. What a wonderful opportunity failure is, why do we not see it for the balancing yin and yang that it is and as some bad negative thing. It will only ever be how we view it and that is the one thing we at least have control over.

Bohemians Brewdog FC

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I’m writing this on the way to the football. We’re off to see my new favourite club Bohemians, or more precisely Bohemians U10’s. My little cousins are all crazy about sport as all young Irish lads seem to be and three of them play within the clubs system. They gave me an official hat about a month ago and a scarf now for Christmas so I’m decked out ready to support the boys.

The only issue for me of course is that I have had to switch my Dublin club allegiance from Shamrock Rovers who wear the same colours as my beloved Glasgow Celtic and who I always for some reason felt were a bit more of the rebel club but I’ve got over it pretty easily. Throw in the fact Bohemians wear red and black, which are incidentally anarchist colours, and following the lads and supporting their team becomes a lot easier. Bohemians are also fan owned I think which is exactly what I want to hear. Fits in perfectly with the red and black anarchist the already self-confessed romantic in me is trying to push.

It’s now six hours later…and we lost heavily. My little cousin Marco, who now goes by the name Marcolinho, was in goal for the first half and he did alright made a few decent saves, centre back second half and a made some good tackles and blocks. The problem was the U10’s had too many call offs as so close to Christmas and they had to recruit a lot of U9’s and seemingly there is a huge difference in size between the two ages. Quite enjoyed cheering him on though and could easily imagine myself being quite a loud combustible father on the sidelines given the chance. We subsequently found ourself in the new Brewdog pub by the Royal Canal Dock, which fed my barge desire even further, and which was worth a visit as my dad and myself have a couple of shares and therefore a massive five percent off. I imagine it’ll be a popular place come next summer. But that’ll do for now, I’m going for another drink, before seeing my cousin DJing, isn’t Christmas tough.

A Shinning Moon

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To carry on the misery, the deeply held pain myself and many others are feeling about this election gone bad, like milk but not the good stuff you can turn into something tasty if you know how, the bad stuff good for nothing, the stench so bad it goes straight in the bin, lumps floating on its surface like the boils of decay on putrid skin, the skin that covers up corruption and wanton self-serving betrayal. But I won’t, how about something more positive to mask the disappointment of hope smashed on the rocks of despair. What do we do when we want to forget pain, we stuff it deep within the folds of our soul, or we drink, we drink in search of the perpetual warmth of alcoholism or at the very least a nice whisky to take the edge off it.

If my phone hadn’t run out of battery and I hadn’t lost my charger now would be a great time to add a photo. In fact if you are reading this and there is a photo attached it means I went back to it and added one subsequently. To add photographic evidence of my successful attempt at creating the elixir of forgetfulness, the murky liquid gold, the self made man to the Etonian heir, the home-brew to the hipster microbrewery. You guessed it? Well understandable if not, but today I took my first step on a (continued) journey of suppression and made myself thirty-five pints of beer. This may be the start of something life changing, especially if my mate gets his way and we start producing enough to sell, but for now its just a combination of curiosity and pleasure. It is unclear whether it’ll be a success and I’m not necessarily excited as I’ve managed to convince myself that somehow I’ll mess it up, I just can’t quite believe its going to work somehow. All the same I’m pretty pleased with myself.

In about six days it should be suitably fermented to bottle and in a further two weeks after that it should be perfect to drink. Therefore in roughly twenty days from now I’ll be able to start on the road to suppressing my emotions and living in a world of denial and ruby ale drunkenness. In between then though we have three weeks together of me either twiddling my thumbs or feeling sorry myself. I could just get over it of course and get on with life but then where’s the wallowing, where’s the self-pity, what would be the point of making all that lovely beer.

Born Again

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When people get into their thirties, like I am well into now, they discover new things and sometimes become mad and obsessed with them. In their twenties it doesn’t happen so much but thirties for sure I’ve seen people go crazy. The born again christians of whatever new hobby or life direction they take to fulfil that empty hole in their life. My lack of the focus and attention span required may just protect me from this. I’m currently reading a book on beekeeping and they’re incredible animals, from the nanny bees keeping the larvae at the perfect temperature, and I mean to one degree celsius, to the queen laying two thousand eggs a day to the language they use communicating about good sources of pollen like little stoners. They’re incredible and I want my own apiary, healthy nutritious raw honey, tasty alcoholic mead and the connection and bond with an actual hive of tens of thousand of bees. Will I become obsessed, well maybe we’ll see. It may just fall at the wayside like my plan to learn how to write code – I downloaded an app about a month ago – and making beer – I bought a brewing set about two months ago.

The problem with desiring doing too much is that we put so much effort into the excitement of the planning and dreaming that the actual doing becomes boring. The effort and hard work required to complete these fantasies doesn’t compare to how we have been imagining it in our excitable dreams. In the end we do nothing. Part of this then involves discipline and this seems to be the thing that has been lacking for me. Of course it suited me in my twenties having no discipline, who needs it when you’re just traveling around and having fun. This continued into my thirties but at thirty-four I think I may have to become a born again disciplinarian, or at least born again about the idea of it. If I ever have kids, poor little fuckers. This writing experiment is just that, an experiment but it is also an attempt at learning discipline and creating the habit required to not even notice the effort required to be disciplined. I have the physical discipline to write daily it appears, or at least do at the moment while my life is in one place and stable, but not always the discipline to write well or with effort. That will come, as much because it’ll be boring for myself to just dribble out inane nonsense. But what I am curious to see is whether this discipline can spread out and infect other parts of my life. The discipline to do yoga every morning, to do a little exercise, to eat well – these three things are starting to become necessary more each day as I start to feel the aches and pains of age. Maybe I’ll even make my beer and god forbid sit down long enough without procrastinating to find time to write an app.

Time is the master. While it may be infinite our moment within it certain isn’t. What has happened now in the past is done, it is over. It may have been great and full of experience but if we do not look forward we just become those grumpy old lonely travellers lost in their missed opportunities and repetitive stories. Today I drive to Cockermouth, the day after I probably come back, and the day after that, well thats anyones guess but I suspect it may be a good one.