What I would like to do here is play it cool. So I am not going to tell you about the development of any sort of massive crush, the compulsive purchase of all of his DVDs, finding other versions of songs on YouTube (“these lyrics reference Australia, but those lyrics reference the UK!”), tracking down a copy of the documentary that charts his early career, or standing outside a theatre for ages waiting to meet him for a quick hug, photo and his signature on my programme.
Tim Minchin at the piano Image: Matt Brown About 5 years ago a friend (a member of the Squeamish team in fact) asked me if I had heard of Tim Minchin, and made me watch his live DVD when I said I only vaguely recognised the name. 'He's amazing, I want to run off with him and have his babies' is a massively approximated, family-friendly version of what she said to me as she pressed play. Halfway through the disc, after making her press pause so that I could stop laughing long enough to catch my breath and wipe the tears off my face, I turned to her to insist that she had to share. We could both run off with him, deal?
What I would like to do here is play it cool. So I am not going to tell you about the development of any sort of massive crush, the compulsive purchase of all of his DVDs, finding other versions of songs on YouTube (“these lyrics reference Australia, but those lyrics reference the UK!”), tracking down a copy of the documentary that charts his early career, or standing outside a theatre for ages waiting to meet him for a quick hug, photo and his signature on my programme.
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Image: Apol3 When my friend suggested we go to a beer tasting, I had a little condescending chuckle but said 'Why not?' This cheeky chuckle was actually an insult to beer. I understood the concept of a wine tasting, I've been on wine tasting courses. People talking about the subtle nuances of this flavour and that nose as they snorted and sipped a full bodied Bordeaux. But beer? I like mine cold, pint sized and sometimes, when I am feeling prosperous, Guinness flavoured. I didn’t think it warranted any further exploration but as I liked it so much I thought it might be fun to taste one that wasn’t cheapy Fosters. [SPOILER ALERT just to assure you Squeamish Nicola does learn by the end of this that Fosters isn't beer – Squeamish Kate] On a very soggy and windy Sunday afternoon we headed to Hoxton in search of the pub hosting The Craft Beer Social Club tasting. Easily found, we resisted temptation and didn’t order a pint there and then. We decided not to taint our palates; we were giving ourselves wholeheartedly to this new beer experience! |
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