Dear Beer Con
Whilst attending your
festival there was some confusion in the queue that led to my hair getting wet.
On arrival I wasn’t presented with numerous free tokens. Do you know who I am?.
It’s a disgrace.
It is no secret that the beer industry can be a pugnacious
space. Fuelled by the natural negativity of social media, there are more
arguments and squabbles in this vacuous void than ever before.
The unrelenting antagonism became a little too much
for me last year until a visit to Salford beer festival tore me from the
doldrums of despair. The positivity of this particular festival space acted as
a personal patronus against the beer Dementors that were slowly sucking the joy
from anything to do with this hobby
In the ensuing 10 months though the joy began to
fade once more. Expense, repetitiveness, FOMO, guilds, Facebook forums and the
constant fight for power by the networkers all brought me back within the group
of silent, aimless, beer Hattifatteners. The good of that one positive
experience was diminished slowly.
With that, I arrived outside Victoria Baths for the
eighth year running full of near militant truculence. All anybody had heard
from me in the run up was how I nearly didn’t come and wouldn’t have been
bothered if I hadn’t. The pouring rain and resultant queue confusion did not
help improve this situation. I felt internally like the irate Liverpudlians
behind me who were already unimpressed with Indy Man Beer Con 2019 before they
had been gifted a wristband.
I’ve been accused of being too sentimental about
beer events and festivals before; of over-romanticising the regular act of
tasting a few beers in a room of others. But in these consistently rubbish times - nationally, in the beer industry and on a personal level - any assemblage of
happiness should be celebrated. And what succeeded for the next 5 hours in a
Grade II listed swimming baths was jubilant.
I’ve always been transient in this event as that provides
the fullest experience for me. It allowed me to spend time in each of the three
main rooms – whether that be listening to some interesting tune choices in Room
3 whilst seemingly being involved in a game of “Murder in the Dark” or
observing the fuss around the Cloudwater stand with Crab Balls in hand in Room
1. Whether it be catching up with beer people from Huddersfield and Italy – the
latter in the country just for Indy Man – in the Lervig tent or taking time to
pile into the Pineapple Room/Verdant’s photobooth and not appearing in any of
the pictures.
There’s time to be bawdy, time to grab a new pin
badge, time for Fish Mosaics and time to accidentally
create Untappd for human beer people “Oh
there’s X-person over there.” “I’ve already spoken to them.” “Oh right, so they’ve
been done already have they? Check-in – 3 out of 5 – would chat to again.”
All whilst drinking some of the best beers I’ve had this year, though most of
those were from Burning Sky. There’s a lot of laughter. It reminded me of that moment in 2015 when I thought about how much I enjoy being part of this
community; for this is one of a handful of events that proves that such a
community exists within this industry, as if that were ever a debate...
Prices were increased over previous years, though I
didn’t personally see a 3 token beer. I spent maybe a tenner more than usual
and even that wasn’t entirely necessary. It didn’t feel as cramped in places or
as difficult to navigate. It didn’t seem as loud, certainly not in the majority
of rooms. The pre-event complaints of it being too pricey, too cramped and too
noisy – or that all festivals are – did not correlate with my experience here.
Not that there is anything wrong with the differing
opinions of course, but that negativity towards this festival felt more
manifested this year, especially from people with no intention of attending
anyway. Festivals aren’t for everybody - or maybe this particular festival isn’t
- yet it is inevitable that some of my own earlier trepidation upon entering
Indy Man Beer Con 2019 had developed around those online conversations in the
run up.
It is representative of the mood of much of the
country in October 2019 that those sullen opinions were more vocal. Heaven
knows, I’ve built up a representation as having an online grumpy persona more
than most. Yet I would like to think that I would stop short of being critical
of others attending events just because it isn’t personally for me. “I don’t like rugby so don’t understand
why anybody would watch the Rugby World Cup.” “I don’t like modern computer
games so don’t understand why anybody would play Red Dead Redemption” “I don’t
like television dramas so don’t understand why anybody would watch Killing Eve.”
That isn’t humour – that’s just being cussed.
As I said on Twitter at the time, I hope those people
found something they enjoyed to do last weekend whilst criticising those doing
something different to them. I needed the reset and the smiles, something that
this particular beer festival has done for 8 years now. The only shame is
allowing the influence of that negativity to convince myself that I no longer
needed it.
In previous years I’ve spoken about the alterations
and the improvements. I’ve discussed the logistics and the positives. Perhaps
I would have mentioned the queue problem in those posts. After eight years
there is little more to be said of them other than there was a lot of Burning
Sky beer and food from Holy Crab and that is more than enough for me.
Given that I pontificate lyrically about an annual
visit to Victoria Baths as if it were a near religious experience, whilst
others just drink some Imperial Stouts and eat heavily dressed hot dogs, I
understand the ridicule this will draw. I care not. From the awe that I felt in 2012, to the sheer gratitude for the experience in 2015, to the relaxation of 2017, I needed to feast on the positivity of 2019; to spend five hours away
from the belligerence elsewhere. That is an altar I’m willing to die on with a
glass of Saison and a hugely out-of-tune rendition of London Boy.
Unless the queue becomes a farce of course…
There is another side to this which is less
romanticised that I may get around to writing in the next fortnight, though
correlates with this article by Matt Curtis for MASH, if you would like to read
that first…
The opening text is the joke blog that it was
suggested people could “hear” me mentally typing as I stood in the queue
getting wet.
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