The 27th of June 2010 will go down in history as a day of disaster and humiliation. A day when dreams withered and died, when hopes metamorphosed into nothing more than self-delusion. A watershed from whose heights we can look down on the glory that is behind us and the ignominy which awaits us with the inevitability of death and taxes.
I refer, of course, to the Tasting Day in the Great Beer Challenge between myself and my ex-friend Mark. The two families and invited guests gathered at The Hall to judge the outcome of the home brewing contest between Mark and myself. After some initial success with my Bloggers' Bitter (see my last post on this subject) I have had growing concerns about it as it seemed to fade away and die between mashing in the brewing bucket and being transferred to the keg. But I ignored my concerns in the belief that faith and hope would make up for a deficit in skills (if this reminds you of a certain football team, so be it). But yesterday the potato chips were down and it was time to sort out the men from the boys.
Or so I thought, until I came to process the official photograph of the event this morning. And there, clear as day, is my ex-friend Mark, with a large grin on his face, taking a photograph of my humiliating downfall. I need to mourn, to go away and lick my wounds, to re-examine my legitimate expectations and to try and build myself back up again after such a cruel day (if this reminds you of a certain nation of football supporters, so be it).