14th November 2010 - 6

16:45 I take the camera outside to take some photos. Nice light. Or is that the St. Bernardus?

Our upstairs neighbour walks by and asks what I'm doing. I was standing in the middle of the road, so it wasn't an unreasonable question. I explain I'm taking photos. Man, what a crazy life I lead.

Lexie was disruptive during the programme about disruptive kids. I know. There's irony in there somewhere.

17:05 Photos done. Time to relax. With my friendly Abt?

Not this time. I've gone for a Bock. Amstel Bock. A beer for which I have a genuine affection. The archetypal Dutch Bock. Odd that it's a product of one of the world's giants. But I worshipped Tetley's Mild, just as much a beer from the wrong side of the capitalist tracks. I've learned to be open-minded. About most things.

Except the mishandling of our traditional German Lagers. That's why I'm starting Die Campagne für bayrischen Anstich.

14th November 2010 - 5

15:40 Shouting, shouting , shouting. That's what I've got myself another St. Bernardus Abt. It calms the shouting in my head, too.

Banged up Abroad. I should have put that on. As a warning to Lexie. Yeah, right.

They're crying on The World's Strictest Parents. I fell like crying, too. Best have another beer.

"Kids - which one of one of you is going upstairs?"

"Me."

"Me."

"No, me."

Me - me - me - me - me - me - me - me . . . . . . .

I need to go on a trip. East.

14th November 2010 - 4

14:39 That last beer had a funny winey taste. Not like beer at all. Time for a change of pace: St. Bernardus Abt.

Whitechapel. I'd been looking forward to the episode so much. In the Blind Beggar. It's such a lovely pub. I have such happy memories of it. Happy that I don't have to visit such horrible pubs. Maybe it's changed since 1979. Can't imagine it got any worse.

14:43 The bastards. They've just used any old pub. Bastards.

The Yorkshire puddings were particularly yummy today. Despite having no black bits. They were so good, I'm going to share them with you. Only in visual form, I'm afraid. You're going to have to take my word for how scrumptious they were.

14:56 The kids have started getting excited again.

"If you take ADHD tablets you get hyperactive."

"Sounds like just what I need, Lexie. Remember to act crazy next time I take you to the doctor." That won't be hard.

"Lexie, those are my salt and vinegar crisps."

"You're so selfish, dad."

"You've eaten more of them than I have."

They've started watching The World's Strictest Parents. It's just like life here. Except for the strictness.

14th November 2010 - 3

13:19 A small beer this time. Pinotage, it's called. I think it's a cross between a Red Ale and a Robust Porter.

I'm watching Match of the Day while the Yorkshire puddings rise. Then go nice and black and crispy. Burnt. That's my favourite texture. After crispy and scorched.

"They're doing very well, the Yorkshire puddings. They're mega." Andrew says.


13:30 Time for dinner.

14th November 2010 - 2

12:35 I can no longer hear sounds of struggle from upstairs. Armistice? Or just the fact I've turned Nigella up to 11? If I can't hear it, it can't be happening.

Nigella Kitchen is my favourite comedy programme. I love the way everything is so transparently fake and staged. Like the bits wear she raids the fridge. Comic genius.

12:37 I've rewarded myself, for not screaming at the kids (well, only a little, not enough to really count) by getting myself a St. Bernardus Abt. First of the day. barring Armageddon, it won't be the last.

12:39 The Yorkshire puds will be going in the oven soon. Will that calm down the kids? Probably not. They'll fight over the last one. We already have to weigh their food to make sure neither gets a gram more than the other.

14th November 2010 - 1

11:45 I pour myself a St. Bernardus Prior. I don't usually drink this early on a Sunday. Normally, I wait until after miday. I've a good reason for an early start: the bloody kids.

Random violence. The scotch bonnet pepper of family life.

As usual, they're arguing over some stupid computer game. Not just arguing. Screaming, shouting, stamping, scratching, kicking, gouging and throwing. I forgot the slamming. Lots of doors slamming. If it was up to me,  it would be their heads getting slammed together. But you aren't allowed to hit your kids any more. Typical that I become a parent when the few bits of fun have been stripped from it.

11:56 I take advantage of a momentary suspension of hostilities to quickly OCR part og an article on artificial carbonation from the Journal of the Institute of Brewing. Part of some project or other. Can't remember which one. Just too many of them.

13th November 2010 - 4

18:53 "50 cents, dad. Just 50 cents."
"No."
"25 cents, dad."
"No."
"50 euros then dad"

Lexie needs to hone his negotiating skills.

18:55 I get to finally taste my Abt. Yes, I'm continuing with Abt. Dark sky, fingers of death, me being a pisshead. Where was I? Dark, drunky delight. Abt. Why bother with any other beer?

"Good photo, Lexie"

"Can I have Black Ops?

"No."

13th November 2010 - 3

17:17 "Shut up, dad." "Why, Lexie?" "It's my birthday, dad. I can do what I want."

17:18 Darkness envelops the garden. Black fingers of death grip the shed. Time for an Abt.

17:19 "Who do you want to win the death fight, Lexie. The short-faced bear or the mega-lion?' "It's my birthday, dad. Don't talk crap."

"Can I have some more of your salt and vinegar crisps, dad?"

"No."

13th November 2010 - 2

16:08 Relief. That's what I'm feeling. After seeing how long I've been taking over each beer. Dolores! Dolores! proof that I'm not a total random pisshead.

She isn't listening.

1602 That's the date on the tower at Munt. Right next to the shop where Lexie tried to persuade me to let him buy Call of Duty Black Ops. I'd have let him have it. (I'm a great dad. I let the kids do what they want. As long as they don't pester me when I'm on the computer.) But I'd been given direct orders by Dolores.

16:18  Being sensible, I'm sticking to St. Bernardus Prior./

16:20 "Do you want to watch the Gadget Show, dad" "Yeah, OK, Andrew."

13th November 2010 - 1

14:55 Back from town. Only had the one beer. Marble Barley Wine. Nice, but had a bit of a grapefruit flavour. Is that a fault?

14:57 Still early. I choose a light alternative: St. Bernardus Prior. It's good to be home.

I was thinking on the tram about words. Nothing better to do. All the buildings along the Tram 2 route, I've seen a wagillion times before. The restaurant a car drove into. The police station that used to be a horse tram garage. The gangster pub (next door to the copshop, funnily enough).

Proactive. A word that got me sacked. Leverage. Traction. Bullshit words used to impress the gullible. Then there''s the I-word. So obscene, I can't bring myself write it in full.

That's weird. I've moved on to the Fuller's logs from 1914. The first is dated 13th November.

12th November 2010 - 4

20:05 Back on the Abt. He's the top man. He's my mate, he is.

I wonder why I love Abt so much? Perhaps the alcoholly falling overness of it. Or the taste. Naah. Don't be silly. It's the alcoholly intoxicatedniness of Abt that makes it so much fun. That and the pretty blue label.

20:08 Bugger transcribing logs. Let's surf the net.

20:09 "Daaad, can you stop shouting at the computer?" "Why Lexie? Are you jealous?"

20:11 "Daaad, what's this horrible black stuff?" "That's my tea, Andrew."

12th November 2010 - 3

19:22 Good intentions. That's what I had when I got home. But I've not been making any real progress with the Fuller's. It's for my AK project. Itself part of  - which project was that now? Something or other.

I'd love to drink an Edwardian AK. In the pub, hand pulled. With or without a sparkler. I'm broad-minded when it comes to methods of dispense.

I was so pleased to discover Fuller's had brewed an AK. It was my first. My first AK log. I can remember it like yesterday, sitting in John Keeling's office flicking through a brewing journal. Then seeing it. AK. The end of a quest. It's a funny feeling finally clutching something you've dreamt about.

19:28 St. Bernardus Abt. My idea of a session beer. You need to drink three an hour for it to count as a session beer. Must speed up. And forget that 33 cl isn't a pint.

19:35 Time for a change of pace. St. Bernardus Prior.

19:43 Duck stew. That's what I'm having for tea. I played freezer roulette. Dolores doesn't believe in labels. It's burning nicely on a gas ring. Burnt. My favourite flavour after yummy.

19:50 I can smell the charcoal from here. The stew is almost done.

12th November 2010 - 2

18:55 St Bernardus Abt number two. It's been a hard week. That's my excuse. And the day has a Y in it.

1910 Fuller's log. The first of the legible years. A joy to transcribe. Unlike those from the scribbly years.

What's that Greek bloke called who had to keep pushing a boulder up a hill? Orpheus, isn't it? That's who I feel like working through my archive photos.

My spreadsheets now have so many columns, not even half fit on my wide-screen monitor. (I've had it for a year, but only realised yesterday that it's HD.) It's a right pain.

19:07 Dinner's making funny noises. Foil containers are microwave safe, aren't they?

19:11 Andrew's friends leave. I shuffle nervously from foot to foot then say "Dag."

12th November 2010 - 1

18:20 I walk in the door.

18:21 Pfft. I open a bottle of St. Bernardus Abt and pour it into a Chimay glass. And switch on the computer.

Maybe you recognise the building on the screen.

The working week is over. Where's that beer?

18:40 First post of my biary.