Just when you thought that you’d had your fill
Of brewing’s William Topaz McGonagall
He comes right along to finish his telling
Of the bloggers poem (with some correct spelling).
Of those he has missed, of those he has kept
The ones that sat at home and wept
For not being waxed all lyrical
By a weird Kiwi brewer from up Thornbridge Hall.
We’ll start quite close, across the way
A Swift One’s blokes will save the day
If to Huddersfield by train you go
The place for a pint you’ll easily know.
There’s good old Phil, his palate keen,
A beer merchant who brews beers clean,
A Saint, a Sinner, new media junkie
And even a beer that’s serious funky!
Back up north, the stouter breeds,
The Good Stuff puts the Leigh in Leeds.
Cannot forget our ladies fair,
Melissa takes the beard from beer
Then there she is, beer writer in stow,
She’s patient, attentive, the Beer Widow.
And of her writing, I can’t be faulting,
The elegant prose of Impy Malting.
My gosh, my rhyming makes me spew,
Unlike the beers of Crown Brewer Stu!
He twitters like mad and brews like crazy,
One thing he’s not is tardy or lazy.
And who can forget he who puts on a show,
I watch them with interest, Zak’s YouTube video.
He teaches, he preaches, tells of flavours weird,
But I can’t help but ogle his fantastic beard!
If there’s one guy who’ll make an ale revelation,
A ninja at writing and beer observation.
It has to be one of those Welsh rugby clones.
If the North West is called out for having no flair,
Then no one has clicked on the link that is here.
Tandleman will push and others will pull,
I wonder if he’s a “My pint’s half full?”
These two will never go out for a coke,
They’re concise, they’re precise, they’re Bailey and Boak.
He counts and he drinks and directs CAMRA well
For London (the Greater), for some t’would be hell!
But passion is evident, without it we’d miss,
The fantastic writings of the Beer Justice.
And heading abroad, again we do go
But not o’er the ditch to County Carlow.
Instead it’s a Bullet that we can all Bite.
In German, Gute Nacht, but for us it’s Good Night!
You’re probably wishing the same of me.
Take something for sleeping, no maybe take three.
And stop with this dreadful and tedious poem.
And get on a boat and head south for home!
In Newcastle they talk about Walking the Dog
I’d rather read Beer Reviews by Andy Mogg.
Or something else interesting, something I’ve seen,
A mag on the interweb, they call it Hopzine.
For lots about brews, this guy shows a care
Jeff Evans, the author with his Inside Beer.
Another whose name is a challenge to match,
It’s meaning cantankerous, or even crosspatch.
The Pub Curmudgeon speaks of pubs, beer and smoking.
And forces debate on the smoke that we’re choking.
But last and not least is the head of the pack,
He blogged and brought controversy onto his back,
But we all forget all the headway he’s made
He’s helped push the beer to the sun from the shade.
And provoked responses, the good and the bad
Epitomal Protzy, the true real ale lad.
At last, as you know all good things must end,
Now head to the fridge and the bottles you tend.
Slump down in the sofa, slump down with relief.
And pray my next poem is absent or brief.