OK – I know this is deeply perverse but I’m right off Cornish beer at the moment, despite supporting it loyally for the last 10 years. For some reason, partly spawned by the sale of my beloved Doom Bar to the Canadians a while back and partly because of a deep need in me to reflect on where I’ve come from, I am now back in love with London Pride. (Paul, I have not yet been tempted to sleep on the hall floor cuddling an empty bottle of Pride, so my passion is perhaps a little less full-on than yours for Stella!)

That’s it isn’t it? You go to the pub and you ask for a pint of Pride. I’ve been doing it since I was a teenager and the day I no longer get pleasure from asking a barman for a pint of Pride will be a very bleak day indeed. Back in the mists of time, in my auditor days I actually audited the pub on the brewery site, which was a great joy. The Fuller’s brewery is sited on what used to be my main route into Central London and I drove past it day-in-day-out for donkey’s years and although I can’t say I’d be devastated if I never clapped eyes on the Chiswick brewery again, I still love my pint of Pride.

Shortly after this photo was taken the pint of Pride was in my tummy and I’m very glad to report it was, indeed, outstanding!