For Ryan Giggs, Max Mosley and the other shrinking violets

I went to the Wolverhampton Beer Festival last night, which was a hoot. The crowd was of course drawn from the road and drum tech fraternity (bellies, beards and prog rock t-shirts, but also a surprising number of the young and trim). 


Top tip: Skinner's Ginger Tosser was lovely, though slightly spoiled by the image of Paul Scholes I couldn't shake off. It's made with ginger (duh) and honey. Mmm. Top marks to the Hobson's Mild (tastes of nuts) and the various mindblowing chocolaty stouts and porters. No pork scratchings though, what an oversight for a beer festival.


After that it was back to my place to drink more fine ale and play records: REM's Document, some Burt Bacharach and Wire's Pink Flag. Which reminded me of their 'Field Day for the Sundays'. I imagine Mr. Giggs might empathise with the lyrics.

I wanna be a field day for the Sundays so they can fuck up my life
Embarass my wife, and leave a bad taste
That striped toothpaste can't remove on Monday mornings
I wanna be a target for the dailies so they can show
Pictures of me with a nude on page three, so lacking in taste
Touched up near the waist,  looking as limp as Monday morning