A gripe about bad lager & a cheer for Transvestite Shows

Well then, just been out to the pub with my dad (you may remember me mentioning my parents splitting up, so this is one of my favorite places to meet up with him), and we wen't to some pubs in Bispham.

Firstly we hit some place on the seafront where we politely waited in turn until we realised that the *gormless looking* barman was serving regulars and his friends as they came up and not noticing us... so we left, my dad in a huff, me in desperation of that sweet sweet beer.

Then my dad suggested we go to the Bispham Hotel... I warned him it was a grubby old blokes pub ran by a private brewery called "Samuel Smiths". According to their Wikipedia page (a site I often find myself browsing in the search for knowledge to fill my idiotic mind with useless facts with to baffle friends and family down the pub) it states, and I quote (but you can check the page if you don't belive me)

Ayingerbrau Lager gained a cult following in some parts of the UK and a beer drinking challenge is held annually. In 2006, the lager was renamed to Alpine Lager.

I can understand the cult following, as only a crazy cult who believe Earth was created by a Flying Spaghetti Monster* could possibly imagine this was a tasty beer to go crazy for.

*This isn't a real religion, and if you follow the hyperlink you will discover for yourself, that it is a satirical text and is well worth a read, I shall be purchasing my copy when I have a job

However, I do believe that the beer drinking challenge they refer to is actually managing to drink a whole pint of this ghastly lager. All this lager does to me is confirm my belief that independant breweries should stick to making beers and stouts, but never EVER lagers.

After that, we mooched on down to the Red Lion, a pub now popular with the yuppie crowd, you know them, the young folk with more money than sense, opting for the nice tasty £15 bottle of wine to have with them whilst they talk about tactics watching the nights world cup football (ghastly sport) match, instead of back at the grubby old blokes pub of the Bispham Arms, were they were drinking ghastly lager watching a ghastly sport (actually, we're halfway through the tournament and I have avoided watching a single match, I'm quite impressed).

Anyways, so while we where there, I was temporarily put off lager, due to that pint of "Alpine Arse Juice" ... or whatever it was called, and opted for the poor student alcopop of Blue WKD, this was tasty and went down my throat quite nicely and rid my tounge of any vile shitty lager tastes.

Then I got myself a nice pint of Carling Extra Cold (which is incidentally now owned by the coors company, famous for making nasty bottled american lager which is only tasty on draught... which is hardly ever availiable), which as it says, was nice and cold, and splendidly refreshing sat in a beer garden on a warm summers evening.

Then my dad asked if I had found out about Rocky Horror Show in Liverpool, I had forgotten about it so quickly thought to myself and said "I couldn't find a number on the Rocky Horror Show site", whilst actually thinking "Oh cock shit bugger, I wanna go see it again but it's probably far too late to book a ticket and my own stupidity multiplied by my laziness and refusual to move from MSN Messenger have cursed me not to get to see The Rocky Horror Show for a second time in a month" ... maybe however, not in so many words.

So, my dad got the number and I rang up, and after hanging up, disscussing with my dad about the prices and wether it was possible, we rang up again and booked the tickets... there is no detail to go into other than...

"If you would like to hear about upcoming shows, press 1" etc, and I am sure you don't wish for me to go into details about that.

So, after booking the tickets my dad needed another drink, so he was on wifebeater and me on my prefered bevvie of Cralin Extra Cold. It was then I unleashed the beast... and started talking costumes, no self respecting Rocky Horror Show goer goes without some form of a costume, so after a whole shitload of nagging, I convinced him to go as Frank-N-Furter, in some of his works surgical scrubs whilst I go full Frank-N-Furter, high heels and suspenders. POW!!

Then I got on the tram home, got home to find my mum had put a pizza in the oven for me, I was quite happy as I was famished... only to my dissmay, I took one bite and the sheer intensity of heat brought tears to my eyes, let this be a message to you all...

Spicy Beef on pizzas is the DEVIL.

Anyhoo, I have little left to talk about now, I started this blog yesterday at quarter to twelve, and it is now quarter past twelve, so as you can tell, I have used up a whole half hour of my life telling no-one about everything... and I need a drink right now