Derbyshire’s Peak District is dotted and surrounded by every species of brewery, but you are as likely to see their beers in the wild as you are to see a goshawk hovering over the park’s beautiful but scarred hills.
After a Cherry Wheat Beer fails to carbonate, I set it off in two new, and radically different directions.
The foam of my beer tells the unfinished history of this universe, from Big Bang to self-reflection to the final pop of maximum entropy.
An invisible hand guides Adam Smith to the shade of Saint Sixtus Abbey.
Taking in the Nottingham Craft Beer Festival, the absurdly-named hype-generating machine that is Neon Raptor Brewing, and the absurdly-built Ye Olde Trip to Jerusalem Inn.
In the Noah Man’s Land between inner-city bar and country inn, between craft cool and cask cosiness, floats The Golden Ark, one of London’s newest micropubs.
As the summer lion overcomes the winter bull, the brewer turns his mind to the joyful high time of the year.