Real ale - in a bin: the end of the road

Three weeks ago, we took a tin of something resembling brown treacle, whacked it in a dustbin with a kilo of sugar, 36 pints of water and then pitched in a small sachet of dried yeast. The microbes partied and made us some beer.

Yesterday, a group of us sat in the sun on Clerkenwell Green (which hasn't been green for centuries) and drank the barrel dry. Only Dryz refused to get involved, sticking to his usual pint of Fosters from The Crown Tavern instead (pictured below, angry man with glass of fizzy yellow swill).

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Brew #1 is nothing but a memory.

Nearing the end of it's journey from bin to belly, the Long Arm Brew was a mid-strength, thin-bodied, light amber bitter. The forthright hop aroma was its real selling point, but the sweet, cidery notes let it down. Served cool on a hot day, it did the trick. A decent first effort - Stonch's Stout should be even better.

At one point a tramp came over with a glass he'd found and asked if he could have a drink. He had a few sips and declared that it was better than what he normally drinks, before helping himself to a top-up and wandering off toward Holborn, pint in hand.

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The Long Arm Brew may not be able to compete against the finest craft brews England has to offer, but according to a tramp it's preferable to Special Brew.

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