Face the Strange

There’s a beer I remember fondly; it wasn’t the first black lager I’d had, but it was one of the first few, and it was certainly the first one I’d had on cask. It was served on gravity, in fact, at the Chorlton Beer Festival. (We’re going back a bit now; this was the second or third Chorlton Beer Fest, at a guess.) It was fantastic, anyway: a bit like a stout, a bit like an old ale, light enough to go down easily and full enough to linger over. I miss that brewery. When my daughter was at primary school I used to take her to Spanish classes on Saturday mornings; we thought it was a good idea, I forget why. The lesson gave me time to fit in a pint, and the Beech in Chorlton was a great place to have one. (This is going back a bit too; my daughter graduated from university a couple of years ago (not in Spanish).) One Saturday morning in particular, I remember putting my glass down and just wanting to stare at it, as if to say, how are you doing that? It looked like a bog-standard brown…

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