No idea how to put this into words properly but I am irrationally and disproportionately pissed off that Brewdog have finally pulled their fingers out of their arseholes and are coming to Lincoln.
In the Brewhaus/Tokyo/Constitution Club building. Beautiful old place right round the fucking corner from me. It’s going to be a brilliant bar.
I can only assume this has been in the works for a lot longer than the world, both beer and non-beer has been crumbling around our ears. I actually reported that Brewdog had half an eye on Lincoln several years back. The building is a perfect spot for Brewdog’s industrial McCraft vibes and it’s comforting to know that with them there I won’t be assaulted by the sight of Orval and Red Stripe next to each other in a fridge or a Delirium Tremens in a dimpled mug.
But my problem with Brewdog, for once, is not actually Brewdog. It’s not you, Brewdog, it’s me. Entirely irrationally this feels like a very personal punch in the gut.
The Crafty Bottle, the independent bottle shop on The Strait that I put my heart and soul into for the past four years was, amongst a multitude of small businesses in Lincoln, a victim of the pandemic. I weeped at the prospect of not returning there after lockdown even though The Strait and the beer industry were not going to be the same places I left. I’m outside of the beer industry now, literally walking past Small Beer on my way to work staring over like a small child at the window of a sweet shop.
As is obvious from the state of this blog, I dropped beer writing a while back. Lincoln felt so far from everything that every time I tried to write I felt like I was reaching a grasping hopelessly at an industry that was just a seedling in Lincoln. No-one travels to Lincoln for Craft Beer™. So I had to go out. It was costly and I still felt like some kind of impostor no matter where I went or who welcomed me. Meanwhile in Lincoln itself I could bring things into the city. I introduced so many people to new beers, new styles. I spent four years passionately talking about beer and doing as much as I could to foster craft beer in Lincoln.
Now I’m out. It’s surreal. I’m looking in from the outside and seeing the struggles in the industry, seeing how friends are marching on. I almost feel left behind, lost, but also that I’ve escaped. I’ve sidestepped into a new career path by pure luck. It’s not something I love like beer but it’s interesting, it pays the bills and, unlike hospitality, the rug won’t be swept from under my feet, then shoved back, then removed again. I’m comfortable, even as I drink some of the very last bottles of Lincolnshire Brewing Co that are in my fridge. It feels like a delicate balance, between my accidental career stability and crying on a bus because a new bar is opening.
So I’m outside, looking in, and Brewdog is stood inside waving at me through the glass. They’re having a pint with Tesco. And whilst Lincoln now will have a Brewdog, it no longer has a bottle shop.
And neither do I.
Pub Geek 