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We're moving again next month, and while it's going to be challenging what with a baby and 'the situation', I can't wait. The place has a garden which while landscaped to the point of banality is at least pleasant, unlike previous gardens I've had access to as a private renter. These were all neglected for years by landlords - after all, why would you bother to make your rental property as comfortable or safe as you would expect for yourself? Anyway, this will be my twelfth flat in sixteen years in London, and people ponder the reasons for the fragmentation of society and lack of community cohesion! It is, in part, due to the precariousness of private renting imo - you're never anywhere long enough to establish yourself in that community. That's why we need a massive increase in social housing provision.  While it should certainly be allocated on a basis of need, it should be aspirational as it once was, and not seen as a last resort. I'm reminded...
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A harbour in the tempest

In these times of political instability I crave certainty. That's why I intend to drink classic beers from Belgium over the darker months. Starting now. I won't feel cheated, I'll always feel loved. No games of chance, just safety.
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It's Friday

The Compton Arms, Islington. We have a table at Trullo booked for 6pm which gives me time for a pint or two beforehand.  This pub came under new management last year, and a very nice establishment it is. It's cosy, does food, has a great beer range and a nice garden. Best of all, however, is the fact it's down a side street and relatively hidden from the hustle and bustle of Upper Street. Depending on the route it's a 37 minute walk or a 40 minute walk from my work according to Google. I took the more tranquil way, leaving City Road for the backstreets and canal bridges of the Islington and Hackney borderlands. I've not had a beer since Sunday so here goes, I'm diving in 💦 By thunder it's fantastic. It's Beyond The Firs by Burnt Mill and is citrus fruit and lime zest, with a distinctly dry finish. It's a real scooper which is a dilemma considering I'm counting the pennies (£6 per pint).  Well one more won't hurt. It sounds like...
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Rye and Folkestone

We spent last weekend in the picturesque towns and villages of Sussex and Kent, and bore that I am I sourced beer recommendations in advance. We started the weekend in Rye. My immediate concern was to find somewhere to watch the Scottish Cup Final, but as I didn’t fancy my chances I resolved to find a pub with WiFi and watch it on the iPlayer. So it was that I found myself in The Old Bell Inn, a beautiful historical pub brimming with character. As I settled down with a pint of Harvey’s Best I was utterly content as I watched Celtic lift the cup, thereby securing the 'Treble Treble'.                 We then wandered to the nearby Mermaid Inn, a huge, rambling and supposedly haunted pub before making for the Ypres Castle Inn, and dinner. This is a pub I would assume needs no introduction to anyone reading this (hi mum). The beer was good and the food was better - it's a fine pub in a wonderful location, sitting as it does in the shadow of ...
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Whiling away

I found myself home alone today so naturally wanted a break from myself. I'm infinitely more comfortable in a public house than a cafe, doubtless because they sell you beer.                 My local is great; if I can walk in and not fancy any of the 21 beers pouring (as often happens) then that's on me. I'm really conservative in my choice of beers nowadays.  We moved recently, not far from where we were. We're on a street rather than a building in a development now, and have come to know our neighbours here better after six weeks than we did at our previous place after four years. I've always wanted to be a part of a community, but it's difficult when you're an introvert and view 95% of the general public with disdain.  I jest, kind of.  The reasons I've not established myself as part of a community are myriad, but fundamentally it's about the precariousness of private renting. Here, however, I feel I (we) cou...
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The curse...

.. of the drinking classes - so goes the witty, inverted saying. The curse is work of course, and for me it's over till Monday. As is increasingly my habit I visited Tesco on my way home for affordable but tasty beers. This is largely a financial decision - my circumstances have altered somewhat recently (in a good way). To which end I find myself sitting in my kitchen listening to the mostly bland output of the Manic Street Preachers, albeit punctuated by occasional bursts of emotive greatness (just take it as a given that such statements are subjective). I'm sure some will judge me more harshly for buying beer from Tesco than for my dubious taste in music, but I don't care. Beer Puritans and music Nazis are two same sides of the same coin. You do you and I'll do me. This is not a masturbatory call to arms, by the way. 
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