It was a Saturday morning in November and my face was drained of all colour. I clung to the nearest pillar on platform 4 of Manchester Piccadilly. I casually wondered whether 16-year-old me had been right all along; that I would indeed die from too much Irish stout. Whilst the majority of my matter was silently screaming for my bed, my heart wished it was on the now-departing train to New Mills that I had been watching from several platforms away. It was the first morning of Smokefest 2019 , hosted by Torrside Brewery, and I'd been looking forward to the event ever since I purchased ticket numbers 3 & 4 as they went on sale. (I am still not sure which rascal snapped up 1 & 2.) My only saving grace, that kept me going as I continued to feel very sorry for myself for the next 24 hours, was a ticket for the following day and a determination to be well enough in time for it. I've never made much of a secret of my love for smoked beer. From pre social m...