Dreaming of a crafty career

Its 23:10, and here I am.  Staring into the back of a mass of mechanical machinery.  Watching a carousel of tooling rotate endlessly as my facial muscles subconciously twitch in time with my thoughts.  Thats right,  and pardon the french here, I fucking hate my job! I’m an engineer. And I’m trapped. Trapped by lifes grip on all of us to pay bills and of course pay for our love for crafty beers and other essential neccessities for life.

I dont want to be an engineer.  I want to make delicious, ambitious, mind blowing beer. I want the world to buy my beer and love it. Rave about it. Demand it and celebrate it.  Like I do when I try a new amazing ale.  I want to go home after work stinking of malt and hops, not oil and metal!

I do brew beer with my brew buddy in his (purpose built) garage. But we are mere virgins at brewing. Infact almost everything we have so far made is complete shit to put it politely. But we’re not detered. We’re determined to master brewing.  Then of course is the small matter of the thousands upon thousands I would need to begin brewing professionally. Premises, brewing equipment, botting equipment, kegs, casks. That doesn’t come cheap.  It’s merely a dream. As the craft beer scene in the uk and beyond grows, I’m stood here in a job I loathe, watching the ticket of opportunity blow by.

Im not the first to dream of making beer for a living.  Its a beautiful dream. But at 11:10pm in a factory. Its a painfull dream.  Oh well. Only seven hours and 50 minutes to go.


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