Yesterday morning, I passed a pub near my home while on my motorbike. Two blokes were wheeling out what looked like mobile beer taps. You’ve got to beware distractions like this when you’re on a motorbike, but after a quick, curious glance and a lick of the lips I refocused and motored on.
I went home and resumed my seat in front of a laptop where I am endeavouring to write a book: working title, How to Drink Less. Concentration was even harder to come by than usual; all I could think about was those beer taps.
I have been strangely responsible during lockdown. Having already brought my intake down from historic and dangerous highs, I have actually been drinking less than ever. But now a craving overwhelmed me. They might have just been taking that contraption out to clean but, if not … As I sat there trying to write about drinking less, all my mind’s eye saw was condensation forming on the beer pipes.
Later in the day, I had arranged to meet an old friend, from the pre-lockdown era, for a walk. Accidentally on purpose, I had us wander in the direction of the pub.
“Where are we going?” he asked.
“Oh, erm, I think they’re selling draught beer outside the Duchess,” I said, with scant nonchalance.
Our pace quickened.
There was Peroni and there was Guinness. We got a stout each and, abiding by the pourer’s instructions not to linger, we repaired to a nearby park. We sat at either end of a rickety bench beneath a low-hanging tree and carefully removed the lids from our plastic pint glasses. With slow reverence, we took our sips and gave thanks for this simple pleasure.
I am all for taking alcohol off the pedestal on which it stands for many of us, but this was something special. We talked as we sipped, and then we went home, exemplars of mindful, moderate drinking.
• Adrian Chiles is a Guardian columnist
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