On Sunday morning, the social media network was awash with personnel describing their morning spent, sat in wellington boots, short-shorts and oversized sunglasses, constantly refreshing their screens in the hope of sealing a metaphorical golden ticket. Some announced their success later on; others were to spend the rest of their weekend lamenting missing out.
These
kids and their FOMO.
Whilst
the mad rush for Glastonbury tickets was beginning, I was pushing my better
half’s cat off my chest, cricking my neck due to a night asleep on the sofa and
searching for coffee amongst any memory of the previous night. The alacrity for
“Glasto” tickets is alien to me. Overpriced. Overhyped. Oversubscribed. With
similar events existing instead with more accessible tickets.
I
poured coffee and was joined for a morning brew with a discerning scowl. As I
pondered what drunken nonsense may have slipped from my mouth the previous
evening to put me in trouble, I had to consider whether it had been a weekend
well spent. Afterall I had spent the Friday and Saturday at the fifth Independent Manchester Beer Convention
(IMBC16.)
I
do not think it is flippent to – as
I alluded to in my pre-festival post – refer to Indy Man Beer Con as my
Glastonbury. That may be baulked at by regular music festival goers, but the
truth is I have little interest in the muddy, expensive and unwashed field
arenas of music festivals. Give me a host of beer, great food and better
friends in an interesting building and I'm in my elysium. And Indy Man Beer Con
is my annual pinnacle of such events.
But
wait... Overpriced. Overhyped. Oversubscribed. With similar events existing
instead with more accessible tickets. Doesn’t that sound like all the gripes
people have with our great Manchester festival?
There
we have it. There is the reason those people were desperately trying to get
their Somerset field festival tickets on Sunday morning whilst I slowly died on
the sofa. Everything that I don’t get about Glastonbury are all
the qualities the attendees love. I can see the parallel now.
I
had this year's realisation moment of Indy Man’s brilliance at quite an odd
time during the Saturday afternoon session. I captured that moment in the below
picture.
It
was only around ten minutes after I’d said to my brother I probably wouldn’t
write about this year’s festival as I had nothing to say. I was sat in this
year’s new addition – the spacious outdoor tent that housed long trestle tables
and a Wild Beer Co. Bar. I eulogised
that I was enjoying the festival but there wasn’t anything for me to add to
a discussion.
Then
I left the tent via the back entrance to nip to the toilet in the portaloos.
And I didn’t queue. I didn’t queue. I looked at the wristband on my
person and thought about how they’d tackled the long queue time, condemned at
last year's event, to gain entrance to the venue by scanning tickets whilst we
were in the queue outside. I realised that this festival evolves each year, but
also does everything it can to address the negative aspects from the previous
years. I wrote last year that I knew they would tackle the queuing issue – and
they did. They listen to the complaints rather than dismissing them.
I
sat back in that additional tent clearly formed to provide a spacious and dry
area for people to sit and enjoy their food. I thought about the much-discussed
token system which definitely worked better. Anybody who says any different is
looking for a grouse. I spent less but drank the same as previous years.
Without
making a long list of my many highlights from this year, I want to mention how
much I enjoyed the indoor food and drink tradespeople. The cheeseboards at Epicurie Ludo were wonderful. The
food at Holy
Crab delicious. During both sessions I attended I made use of a quick
Piccolo at Idle Hands to keep
myself going - and just because they’re as delicious as any beer I had.
I
don’t follow social media whilst in Victoria Baths (apart from that mentioned
at the end.) I’m too busy with, you know, social reality. I did hear, however,
on that hungover Sunday that there had been a throng of
complainants throughout the weekend. I’ve still not witnessed or heard any
of it myself and I can’t fathom where they found umbrage. Perhaps they were
upset, as was I, that the superintendent’s flat was closed after I encouraged
them to visit it.
It
is after a weekend when family and friends have had to witness me stopped and
greeted every 5 yards like a returning war hero that I must consider my own
bias. Overpriced? Overhyped? Oversubscribed? With similar events existing
instead with more accessible tickets? Maybe for some but not for me. It
remains the peak and highlight of my beer year and the organisers deserve great
credit for continuing to improve it amongst intimidating increase in demand.
I
couldn’t release a post without paying tribute to the many who took my advice
to take a picture of a fish mosaic very literally. It seemed, especially on the
Friday, there was somebody poised with a camera at it every time I passed.
Below are just some from the pool that I found via being tagged or hashtag and
I’m sure many more exist.
We
are all Indy Man.
We
are all Fish Mosaic.
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