We’re all craft wankers now

Sessions with Barry can get messy. By way of a Christmas present he emailed me a recording of the aftermath of one such session. The time stamp was deliberately stripped out so I don’t know when it took place. It was terrifying listening. However, I have no idea how to upload audio and I’m not going to learn for the sake of this nonsense. Here then, without comment, is an excerpt.

Craig: Sing for me, Barry. Sing me a sea shanty!

Barry: He says he won’t take us.

Craig: What?

Barry: The taxi driver. Says he won’t take us cus yer too drunk.

Craig: Drunk! Well fuck him and the taxi he rode in on. You’ve got legs! I’ve got legs! [Singing] Oh I’ve got two legs from my hips to the ground, and when I move they walk around.

Barry: Alright. Come on then, gerrup. Which way?

Craig: I dunno.

Barry: It’s your bloody city!

Craig: I don’t know the way. I need the map. Return the map, Barry. Return what you have stolen from me!

[Scuffling noises. Small metallic bang. Distant shouting.]

Barry: Get down off that phone box.

Craig: I was getting my bearings. It’s this way.

[Sound of walking. Distant noise of revellers.]

Barry: Chuffin’ ‘eck. Cardiff’s like a war zone at night. Is that Military Police over thur?

Craig: [Burps] Probably. We’re walking on a battlefield. This is the dark heart of craft right here. This is where the war was fought. See them bullet holes in that pub wall? Craft rounds. And there’s where hop bombs exploded. Brewers fought and died here wielding their hop shovels against Big Beer, and Big Beer was drowned in their own fizzy piss.

Barry: Shut it you daft berk.

Craig: We won the war, Barry! Craft is everywhere – it’s in every bar, it’s in every supermarket, it’s on everyone’s lips.

Barry: Yer a craft city slag. Only cities got the craft. Come up nerth Yerkshire, go t’ mid-Wales, middle o’ England, nowt craft there.

Craig: You know how I know we won? I got you, Barry. I got you into craft. [Hisses unnervingly] We’re all craft wankers now, Barry.

Barry: Interesting if true. Gerrof me coat.

Craig: Of course it’s true! When you think about it… hey… look at that cat! It has a moustache! Hey, cat! You, cat!

Barry: Cat! Gerrover ‘ere!

[Remaining 7 minutes 38 seconds recording time constitutes Craig and Barry shouting at a cat. The cat does not respond.]

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Published by: craigheap

Freelance beer writer, Welsh beer blogger, member of the British Guild of Beer Writers, and co-author of the "Craft Beer" titles. Not the beer writer Wales deserves, but the one it has to put up with.

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