Oh my fucking tits, what have we walked into? I can't recall a time in my life when the expectation/reality matrix has been fucked any harder than this. Except some jobs I've done. And some Tinder dates, de rigueur . I was in Zummerzet for Zoider. And who could possibly resist a specialist cider bar at the foot of the Mendip Hills (immortalised by Adge Cutler and The Wurzels). This is an easy win. Local, natural, traditional cider. Some people come to Somerset purely for the cider. I know I fucking did. Not exactly a captive market, but a fairly reliable one surely? Sell a quality product, and don't take the piss - people will keep coming back for more. The Cider Barn in Draycott however, have taken a different tack. Imagine if you will a specialist real ale bar that served Doombar, Greene King IPA, and Caffreys. Imagine going to a fancy wine bar that had Echo Falls, Blossom Hill, and Blue Nun. You would scream, and quite rightly, "I have been massively fucking misle...
Beer, n. An alcoholic liquor obtained by the fermentation of malt, and flavoured with hops. Hiraeth, n. A profound feeling of longing, loss, or nostalgia for a person, place, or past (even imagined).