On Beer and the Colour Blue.

When I was walking down the lane tonight, one of the local women pulled up beside me and said ‘I thought you should see my new car. Not because it’s a new car, you understand, but so you’ll recognise it when it drives past.’

What? Why should I care? People say the strangest things, don’t they? There followed a brief discussion about the women’s Keep Fit class at the village hall, during which I was asked ‘Were you spying on us?’ ‘Certainly not,’ I replied indignantly, ‘I was trying to look the other way.’ And then she drove off. The car was blue, by the way.

And on the subject of blue (or more appropriately, bleu,) I thought it worth mentioning that tonight’s beer is Kronenbourg 1664. It says on the can La Première Bière Française, which must mean that it’s French.

French? The French don’t do beer; the French do wine and absinthe. They can’t even spell it. Beer is a Germanic thing. While my ancestors were wearing horns on their helmets (which they didn’t actually, but shhh…) the French were wearing lilies. So since when did the French become unsophisticated? And the fact that they produced my two favourite heroines in Jeanne d’Arc and Amélie Poulain, and the fact that French women have the most engaging way of saying ‘Oh!’ is no reason to take French beer seriously.

I just tried it and it isn’t bad. Oh.