|Drinkin' the Evil Keg #12|
I write this to not to say that IndyManBeerCon is awful, because it isn't. I write this to say that I am no good at it.
In retrospect, maybe a crowded event in an echoey disused swimming baths wasn't the best option for my personal comfort, but you can't say I don't try.
As I admitted before the event, I'm not really a social bunny. While I saw many "Beer Communicators" going to every table and chatting away to whomever looked like they were involved in Brewing (and possibly blocking the way for people who just wanted a Beer), that's not really the way I operate. I don't possess the requisite social skill to carry that off without awkwardness or embarrassment.
Due to sheer amount of people and noise, I was quite anxious for the majority of the three hours I was there. Pictured in the above photo was one of the few spots I could actually stay still for a few seconds without having to move for somebody. But not for long.
On the plus side, the beer was very good (or at least the ones I had were), and the people who recognised me ("No, I'm somebody else with a porno tache and paisley shirt" etc.) were nice, even if some were probably put off by my awkward and nervous body language (I'm told I do that).
This has been difficult to write, and I'm sorry I've not been as gushingly positive as everyone else who went has been. For what it's worth, on the way back to Oxford Road Station, I stopped off at the Lass O'Gowrie and had a pint of Greene King. So you can say I've already been punished.
If I'm not honest about these things, what's the point of this blog?