Right. So this is the scenario. There is beer all over the place (still
in the barrels at this stage), there is an angry mob of anti-bollard
protesters who have formed themselves into an impromptu lynch mob and it is not
even midday yet.
What are you going to do?
Well, a lot of the proceeds are going to charity so how about offering Mrs.
Mayor for sale as a 'slave for the day'?
Meanwhile, the festivities and frivolities carry on apace with much
festing and frivoling on all sides.
Loads of goodies to be had.
(And I got them, bwahahaha!)
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Elsewhere, a confused Australian tries to get to grips with
the subtle, esoteric intricacies of traditional English pub games. |
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So great is the fearsome reputation of the St. Ives Beer Festival
that it attracted strangers from outside of Downlong, such as Anna from Sveden
and Rabbit, our fine furry formerly felonious foreign friend, from Australia.
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Hello, I'm smiling broadly to disguise my embarrassment at
being stuck in a hall full of ale-swilling, pot-bellied, middle-aged men
writing furtive notes in school exercise books. |
So, tell me Rabbit, how does traditional English beer grab
you after all that Fosters and Castlemaine gnats-pee you've been forced to
drink down under? |
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What follows can only be described as a blatant blag but ... what the hell!
It's publicity for them and the event so it's not as if I am trying to pass it
off as my own handiwork.
The next page and/or images may well take more than a few nanoseconds to make
a full appearance as it contains the scanned pages from the beerfest programme.
Oh and before you all moan to high heaven the prog was A5 so I scanned both
pages per side to save time. You've got a problem with that? The Reporting Team
will see you outside in the car park in five minutes!
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