Guest author: A woman walks into a pub...
The Ale Lady takes over the blog to let off some steam over why femininity shouldn't be
defined by the drink in your glass.
I walk into a pub for the first time.
A proper pub. Not a Wine Bar, not a Bistro, not a licensed café, but a proper pub. Immaculately dressed, nails manicured, eyelashes curled – I am inevitably met with unsubtle glances from the locals. You know the ones – the wonderful myriad of characters who each have their own place at the bar, some with their own glasses, some surly, some jovial and one asleep face down in his pork scratchings. All men.
They assume I've merely come in to ask for directions. Why would someone like me, a lady, risk ruining these fabulous shoes on a carpet that is gloriously sticky it threatens to keep hold of their soles with every step I take?
Or maybe I've come to meet a gentleman? A lady like me must have dressed to impress someone. A lady like me shouldn't wander around this part of town alone.
As I make my way to the bar, the landlord stirs, arm automatically reaching for the wine glasses above his head. “What can I get you, love*?”
The menagerie of drinkers part like the red sea as I make my way to the front to survey the ale pump clips. I can feel the befuddlement rising amongst them. I care not.
Having sampled my short list, I select the ale du jour that I fancy. The landlord reaches low this time, and grabs a half pint glass. “A half then, love**?”
“No. A pint, please”, I reply, producing my own, stemmed, tulip-shaped pint glass from my equally fabulous handbag.
The natives stir. They are surprised. They are confused. They are...impressed? Even the man with the pork scratchings up his nose stirs. Within seconds all offer up their seats, as though I am pregnant. “I prefer to stand, but thank you.” I say. Better for the legs.
There is a fluster of old beer towels as the landlord tries to clean the years of spills from what has now become my spot at the bar. Although flattered, I like those spills. I like this carpet. I like a pub with a story….a soul. I like character. And it is character that each and every real ale has.
I am a lady. I only swear when it is ultimately necessary***. I don't know the difference between Rugby League and Rugby Union. I have a waist, not a belly and I take care of my posture. I sip, never gulp, my drinks. And the drink I choose to sip is fine, real ale. Cask conditioned nectar that it takes an artistic skill and instinct to brew, keep and serve. The champagne of the beer world.
Femininity is not dictated by drinking Pinot Grigio just as masculinity is not dictated by drinking pints of beer - a lesson many men could do with learning.
I am a lady. I am an ale drinker. I am here to teach others that the two are not mutually exclusive and help keep the wonderful ale industry alive.
*Once is fine – I presume it's habit.
**Twice gets my back up, a little bit.
***I may deem a third “love” an ultimately necessary instance.