A Dutch Life

Started with My First Time
Continued from My First Time Part II
Continued further from My First Time Part III
Was still going at My First Time Part IV
Despite better judgement it continued here My First Time Part V

I turned to acknowledge the old man, but he was gone, just an empty bottle of yellow labeled Dark Ale remained, still wobbling from a awkward landing. The Schnitzel had arrived and I rediscovered the guys sitting around the table. I could see my beer, it’s green label faced me like it knew who I was. I looked at each of the guys, and as I did we all said “Mate, this tastes like an angel has pissed on my tongue”…

Strangely, we all tell exactly the same story about that day, as if each of us approached that bar, each ordered the beers and were each spoken to by the old man. No one knows for sure who he was, but rumour has it that a young bloke named Thomas used to visit the pub on fine summers days. He knew that after a day in the surf there is nothing like a sampling of his families fine brews while taking in the sea air.

From that day I have drunk Coopers, it’s the only beer my taste buds allow….

THE END

Started with My First Time
Continued from My First Time Part II
Continued further from My First Time Part III
Was still going at My First Time Part IV

Upon returning to the table the boys saw the foreign bottles. They began to wonder why I had not bought “Coldees”, but something stopped them from asking. Their hands reached for the beer in a smooth, calculated fashion, yet with such urgency that you wondered if I had purchased only three bottles for the four of us. With one remaining in my hand, I took the initiative and raised the bottle mouth to mine. The bottle was oh so cold and the fragrance pungent, smooth, entirely addictive. I tipped it slowly and effortlessly, the bottle bottom rose as if defying gravity, like it had wings. Before grabbing it I had made sure the label was facing away from me, broadcasting my new preferred beer as if it were the flag of my country. I was growing in confidence. In a rush I felt the precious amber liquid pour down the bottle neck and seamlessly down mine. I was taken. My taste buds threw their heads back and moaned. Faintly I could hear the beating of wings. I had to stop, to gather myself, to breathe, to compose myself. My eyes were now closed, in reality it was only a second but I felt hours pass. For a time I was oblivious to the sights and sounds around me but then in a snap back to reality, the bottle was again connected to my lips. I still don’t remember lifting it there but factually the beer was again flowing. Struggling to take control, I grabbed the bottle firmly, if I didn’t know better I would have said it began trying to buck my grasp. I became more determined, and by sliding it sideways I managed to prize it from my lips. As if breaking in a horse, I intentionally slammed it down on the table, and exclaimed “Ahhhhhh…” for at least 5 seconds.

Now the beer was mine.

To be continued…..

Started with My First Time
Continued from My First Time Part II
Continued further from My First Time Part III

I asked again, the silence was repeated. The barmen’s face was blank, still, was waiting. Getting anxious my eyes slowly focused more carefully on the fridges, I began to turn the colour into letters and then words. With a sudden and now instinctive reflex, I said “Make that a Coopers”, I paused, then followed it with “…a Coopers Pale”. From my left I heard the loudest of whispers, it was the old bloke. I remember the sentence like it was the first I ever spoke, “Mate, there’s nothing like a Coopers, it’s the taste of an angel pissing on your tongue.” The now coolly excited barmen burst into animation. His eyes turned to a look of respect, emphasized by his body language, he nodded ever so slightly then turned and gathered four beers from the fridge.

When I caught sight of the bottle that would be my first, it was upside down. I was puzzled and curious as I watched the barmen skillfully and tenderly right the bottle, spinning it as he did. I had never seen this before but I liked it. He asked if I wanted a glass, testing me, by his tone I knew I was not going to get one and that “yes” would have been responded to with “no”. Upon my decline, he slid the bottles over to me and took the cash, I grabbed the beers and headed back to the table, I did not even wait for the change. As I did this, I glanced down at the fridge trying to determine exactly where the barmen had retrieved my beer, but there was no sign deceiving him, not a gap in the united front of Coopers bottles.

To be continued…..

Started with My First Time
Continued from My First Time Part II

The Crown is an excellent pub, old looking, but with all the modern conveniences you expect, like pokies <grin>. We strode toward to dining room, as we had done many times before, looking eagerly for our table. As we entered the room, I noticed an old bloke at the bar, he was looking out the window with a gaze so strong I felt I would be sliced in half as I passed through his line of sight. I guessed he was in his seventies, he wore a denim jacket and still had the purposeful posture of a young man full of testosterone. I knew the other guys had noticed him too, but we didn’t say anything.

We ordered our standard lunch and then Scotty reminded me the round was mine, it always seemed to be. Borrowing some money from him, I stepped off the bar stools used in the dining room and approached the bar. There was something wrong, I knew that, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.
The barmen had a solemn look on his face, he was obviously very serious about his job today. He was there to serve beer. I had a casual glace at the small fridges you find at ground level behind bars, today, instead of the variety of bottles decorated with supposedly enticing colours and gold foil, there were just two, Red and Green. The colours were uniform, crisp, and you knew they were placed in that fridge with great care and respect. The beer had a presence that made time slow down proportionally to the distance I was from the bar. Nervously, hesitantly I asked for four bottles of Carlton Cold.

There was complete silence.

To be continued…

Continued from My First Time

It was a very warm day in Victor Harbour, one of South Australia’s favourite beach side towns, and as was the custom on superb days like this, Scott, Nads, Rouger and myself had decided to head there for a spot of surf and sand. We’d made the hour long drive in rattling cars with broken air conditioners, and I remember big furry seat covers that Adam insisted made the driving experience more pleasurable. I just remember them turning into airborne irritants, causing fur balls and massive clumps of belly button fluff.

We hit the water at about 1:00pm, just as the sun was at its fiercest, I was a little scared of it’s bite, but I knew that within 3 hours a “schnitzel parmi” and beer awaited me at the crown, I just had to be brave to be rewarded. I piled on the sun block, making my already pale complexion a colour slightly lighter than white. The water that day was perfect, it was cold, high and utterly possessed of attitude. Lining up on the sand, we prepared to attack the surf, I heard Rouger send up the call yelling “It’s Time To Harold Holt Bolt!”, in an instant we were all sprinting toward the foam, the last one to fall being declared the winner. I won. 

The 3 hours were spent well, I know this because I was feeling pain by the time we decided to wade on in. My lips were like a salt flavoured chuppa-chup and my hair was matted like a dreadlock of dreadlocks. After dusting off and spraying our heads with instant conditioner, a trick Nads had picked up in a Cosmo magazine, we headed back to town full of confidence.

To be continued…

My first experience of true beer is one I will never forget….

I started drinking beer professionally at about 18, before that I had tried it, but due to an internal philosophical debate convinced myself that it was not a nice beverage and decided to call drinking it experimentation. This however did not deter my natural beer mentor, Dad, from gently encouraging me to explore the amber liquid, nudging me as if I were learning to ride a bike or jump in a swimming pool for the first time. The fridge in our house was always full of many flavours, a result of Dad’s keen pursuit of the bargain. In fact if there were a second hand market for Beer, I’m sure our fridge would have become a “beer market” clearing house. What this did mean however was that I got to try a variety of brands including West End, Victoria Bitter and even Southwark.

So it was with these humble beginnings that I chose my first preferred beer, shuddering now, it was the “Coldee” or for those unaccustomed, the “Carlton Cold”. While it may seem today to be a choice entirely lacking in style and sophistication, I would like to point out that at the time, it was the beer for young lads, popping up at music festivals (in plastic half litre bottles) and all the best gigs (I drank it watching You Am I for example).

I stuck with the “Coldee” for at least two years, sadly years I will never get back, failing to venture from its safe clear bottle for fear of loosing the fragile taste for beer I had developed. I was secure in its inoffensive, conservative flavour and reassured of its cool by glitzy adverts. Sadly I could know no better.

One day that all changed, a deeper desire awakened within me and my life has never been the same…

To be continued….