The rest of the taproom was beginning to fill up with the regular weekend punters and their kids and dogs, all intermingling with the cask nuts until it was difficult to see where one group ended and another began … joyful chaos.

And then I looked at the lukrs and the poster on the wall tempting me to go for a nice refreshing glass of foam; another crawl was in danger of being self-sabotaged.

... their extended version of Down by the River had me hunched over and shuffling around like old Neil himself. It was all I could do, not to pull out the air guitar.

Another shame for me as I can roll out of my building, trip over the curb, and stagger right in the front door of the Third Avenue Alehouse … … or did I get that backwards?

Along with some typical shiny brewing equipment they also have a couple of strange terracotta cauldrons for lack of a better word, with their lids tightly locked down as if the contents would try to escape otherwise.

Coincidently, every Tuesday was when you would find the Cask Whisperer lurking at the back of the bar, funny how that happened …