The first place I went to was the Euston Tap, helpfully just round the corner from the aforementioned hotel room. Just to prove I was not desperate for refreshment I waited a whole ten minutes after opening time before going in. I bought a pint of the Finest Cask and, if any reminder were needed, it told me I was not in the North any more.
After finding the Northern Line closed, I walked to my hotel, dumped the suitcase and headed off to BrewDog Camden. This took me half an hour. Still, it wasn't raining by now. I found it easily enough. It's not like you could miss the place.
I looked at the price list and was pleasantly surprised. I had heard all kinds of horrible things about beer prices in London and the cost of BrewDog, and was expecting Punk IPA to be £6 a pint. I went up to the compulsorily-bearded barman and ordered a half to settle my nerves. I sat at an industrial themed table (concrete and girders) and looked around. "It's not often," I thought "that I'm the oldest person in a pub."
I wondered who would be more offended - CAMRA, for one of their members entering the Den of Evil Keg, or BrewDog themselves for being infiltrated by a late-thirtysomething Beard. The staff weren't complaining though. Especially when I spent £27 on bottles to take back home to the craft-free land of Thwaites Wainwright.
Still, there was plenty of fun to be had. Mainly by taunting my local craft beer barman friends with pictures of BrewDog Camden's tube-based beer/hop infusion device. "You wouldn't like this place." I texted as I sipped my half of 7.2% Jackhammer.
I would go again to BrewDog, despite my reservations. Just maybe at a less crowded and noisy time. And maybe fewer hipsters. A vain hope, probably, in Camden.