18 July 2019

My Imposter Syndrome (A Middle Class Howl of Anguish!)

This is my attempt to join the beer conversation
To imbibers all! Every creed! Every nation!
To the sessionists, the casuals, the lads on the lash
To the hipsters - too cool to buy crisps with hard cash

I present myself here as The Beer Shamateur
A chancer, a Walter, a pale charicature
My tastebuds are dulled from a life drinking Coke
Any dreams of being a connoisseur long gone up in smoke

But for the lack of a nose - or indeed the nous
I tend to drink supermarket bottles in my house
I flush out my palate with whatever I please
And ignore tasting notes about pairing with cheese

And the medium I use - not my first choice you'd think
Was journo, now poet - life's path throws up a kink

I'm from a part of Wales that's not sung about
There's no hiraeth here - people want to get out
I'm middle-aged now, some would say middle class
Just 'cos I grew up with a garden that had grass

I'm a jack of some trades, but mastered a lot less
My paypacket comes from being sat at a desk
I punch numbers and letters into Excel all day
It may not enthrall me - but it pays my way

It allows me to pop down to the bar for a drink
That motivation alone never lets my heart sink
And to share it with friends all over this Earth
Because the Internet's my local - the barflies all surf

I tried to blog but I just can't do longform
And my Youtube channel is just as forlorn
You may have seen what I've done, even read what I've scribbled
But please do not judge me based on that drivel

Now I take inspiration from the masters of verse
It's hardly punk poetry - quite the reverse
I'm a privileged man with a privileged existence
No-one judges my colour or puts up resistance

But that doesn't mean that I don't burn with the fire
To see this fine land climb out of the mire
For one day us all to again be friends
When the nightmare of schism and hate finally ends
And in the bar (or the pub) is where this all could be
Because alcohol (sometimes) solves what ails humanity

But don't take it too serious, or you too will upset
The joy and the pleasure that those of us get
From the simple pleasures of barley and hops
Whether in pint glass in town or brought home from the shops

I call out to you now, friends I do not yet know
To have just one more beer before you must go
And those who decry us and look down on our craft
Can ride pink gin rivers on their plastic life raft

Let them opine on the wine
Because, beyond their sneer
We'll have a good time
We'll bring on the beer.