“IMAGINE IF YOU WOKE UP TOMORROW AND ALL MUSIC this s*it HAS DISAPPEARED.”

The graffiti on the towpath beneath the road bridge has itself been graffitied.

One of the best things about Christmas, the thing that defines it for me, is tradition.

Of course there are the universal traditions, the ones that bind us together and make Christmas special: we know that an overwhelming majority of the population is sitting down at a similar time to a similar meal as we are, and that gives us a lovely warm, shared feeling that we are part of something bigger.

Back when I worked in advertising full-time, we spent a lot of time doing future trends forecasting.

It was kinda sexy, and people who got a little too enthusiastic about it would start trying to make up words to describe all these amazing new things we would be doing, seeing, eating and wearing.

The nice thing about making beer is that anyone can do it: brewing is a naturally occurring process.

The world’s first beer was probably the result of some grain collected in a basket or pot, that was allowed to get wet, started to germinate, and was attacked by wild yeasts that fermented the sugar in the grain into alcohol.

“You’re a BEER writer? Ha! Ha! Ha!”

No, it’s OK, I’m used to it now.  I’ve been doing this for a decade and I’ve heard it all:

“You obviously do a lot of research.”

“Where are your black socks and sandals?”

“I only drink lager.  Does that mean you hate me?”