Mrs PBBB was sitting at the back, after having helped get everyone in and get the beers on the tables. About ten minutes into my talk, a man in his late fifties or early sixties, with grey hair and beetroot face, stumbled into the hall waving a £10 note and trying to buy a pint of Otley's Columb-O, one of the beers I was tasting. Mrs PBBB spotted him, waved him over to her table and gave him a beer.
"Ah, you seem friendly. I'm going to sit with you!" he boomed, and at this point Mrs PBBB realised he'd come quite a way since his first beer of the day.
According to Mrs PBBB, every time I used words like 'modern' or 'new', or phrases like 'revolution in British brewing', he winced, tutted and shook his head.
Eventually she said, "Would you mind keeping it down a bit? That's my husband talking."
"Pete Brown is he?" bellowed the man.
"Yes," replied Mrs PBBB. "Shhh." She added.
"Yes, I read him in the Publican every month! Writes for the Publican doesn't he?"
"Yes, he does."
"Yes. I was reading him last month. Writing about the Meantime Brewery."
The man sat silently for a few seconds then, thinking. And then he suddenly announced, "Yes, I read him all the time. I think he's RUBBISH!"
He grinned at Mrs PBBB, then said, "I think I'll leave now before I'm thrown out! Goodbye!" And off he went, clutching his Columb-O.