And as I drink I think back to the morning as my coach
pulled into Victoria at 6am and I saw a guy walking up the road, in full early
60s rockabilly (or was it greaser?) regalia — peaked hat, leather jacket with
badges and slogans written on it, including one for the Pirates (Johnny Kidd
and the Pirates I think), old school bike boots with white socks rolled up at
top, jeans tucked in, denim new and durable, an outfit that was popular when
the Beatles drank Mackeson, London Pride had an ad campaign based on an LP and
Albert Seaton swigged his body weight in beer on a Saturday night and fell down
the stairs in his local pub…
And the point is that this man was both celebrating and
mourning a past he would never know, but things have moved on and those who
want to drink the beers they drank in the past will find that they too have
moved on, meanwhile the Trappist beer is ok, sugary and blanket-like in its
smoothness, but I feel like I’m back in that coach watching the rockabilly guy,
reliving a beer that never knew its past but is content to stride along the pavement,
unafraid of what contemporary time thinks, undaunted in the pomp and passion of
asking the past if it can answer the phone or come to the door or unfurl its
flag and never break your heart again.
