I drink, therefore I do not freeze...

Portland, Maine, is a hub of craft brewing in the United States, which might explain the surprisingly high number of young bearded men who drink IPA around there. There are craft breweries everywhere, it seems, and I had organised a brewery tour for the last day of the trip to take advantage of this. As it turned out, given that the high temperature for the day was a rather hostile -16 degrees, a hearty ale or two was just what the doctor ordered.

Our hosts were the Maine Brew Bus, which turned out to be a green school bus - one of the shorter models - and our guide, Alex, turned out to be a real aficionado of the brewing art, as she explained how the day would work, where we would go and what we might expect.

The first stop was at Thompsons Point, on the edge of the town, just beyond the railway station, where the Bissell Brothers Brewery is located. Their signature beer is called The Substance Ale, at a chunky 6.6% ABV. That was my first surprise, the sheer weight of alcohol content, as I explained, we tend to drink beers at about 4.2% ABV, with strong ales at 5-6%.

But not at Bissell Brothers, whose beer list includes Angels with Filthy Souls at 9.3% (a maple porter), Umbra at 7.5% (an oatmeal stout) and my personal favourite, Here’s to Feeling Good All the Time, a 7.8% double IPA. They also do an interesting Flemish ale with raspberries, whose name I didn’t catch.

We had a bit of a tour, with the brewing process explained, and I noted with interest that my fellow tourists were evenly split male/female, with the women just as enthusiastic about their beer as the men. It’s interesting that beer is becoming a lifestyle product, with the quality of the ingredients key to its appeal, and that whilst men do dominate the industry, their customers are more diverse.

But we had to move on, with a drive to Freeport, home of the Maine Beer Company. The first thing that I noticed was the artwork on their labels, in that it is very minimalist. One of the things about craft beer is that there is a link to art, with beer labels designed to attract the eye. Here, the labels were white, with the name of the beer, a small symbol and the name of the brewery, all relatively small. This was, apparently, deliberate, to indicate that their focus was wholly on the beer.

We were offered a flight of four 5 oz glasses, and I chose Pilot, a coffee stout, Mean Old Tom, a regular stout, Zoe, an amber ale and Lunch, an IPA, all of which fall into the 6.2-7.5% ABV range. The Pilot was very good, the others very drinkable, but the Mean Old Tom was pretty spectacular.

Time to head back to Portland, but with a hand pie to eat on the way - a vegetarian one. It was, from the perspective of a committed carnivore, pretty good.

Our last stop was at the Rising Tide Brewery in Portland’s East Bayside neighbourhood. I had already drunk their Ishmael, a copper ale, at the bar of our hotel, and was pretty impressed. The Waypoint, another coffee stout, was equally as good.

It was, all in all, an excellent tour. Not cheap, but certainly not nasty, and I would recommend the Maine Brew Bus if you’re interested in beer, and in particular, craft beer. They’re a fun bunch, engaging and knowledgeable, and I wish them every success in the future.

Just a busy Thursday night in Brussels

I obviously forgot to publish this, so do bear with me...

One of the funny things about Parliaments is that, in my experience, the "let's go for the drink because the week is over" day isn't a Friday, like it is for most of us, it's a Thursday. In the UK, Parliament doesn't usually sit on a Friday, and the European Parliament seems to be a bit like that too, because Parliamentarians go home on a Friday (assuming that they haven't fled back to their constituencies on a Thursday).

And that's why I find myself in an unusually crowded Place Jourdan, surrounded by young people from across Europe, drinking beer (mostly) and speaking a myriad of languages. I am here for a meeting tomorrow morning, and as it is impossible to get from Stowmarket to Brussels in time for an eleven o'clock meeting - check for yourself if you don't believe me - I am obliged to come early and drink beer on your behalf. Trust me, I am not enjoying it (that might not be entirely true).

So, why am I here? Well, it's been a while since the ALDE Financial Advisory Committee met, so we have gathered to study the audit papers, examine the financial position and consider how things are going in terms of sponsorship and the new financial regulations that have finally made their way through the European Parliament.

Naturally, as a (redacted) official of (redacted), I take a keen interest in how public funds are spent, and given my expertise in the deconstruction of financial records - you knew that all of that training would come in handy for something, didn't you? - this seems like a job for someone like me.

But beer, in this case Grimbergen Blonde, doesn't get drunk on its own, so if you'll excuse me...

In search of something so very German

Ah Germany, the home of beer and wurst and people in leather shorts with braces. And so, naturlich, I am in a bar. With beer. And weisswurst mit sweet mustard. Fortunately, there appears to be nobody in leather shorts, although an accordion player would be tolerable. Nobody has smuggled in a flugelhorn, nor are beer drinking songs being sung... yet (the night is still young though).

I freely admit that it didn't take very much to tempt be from my hotel, very nice though it is. When you have an entirely new city to explore, U-bahn to ride and things to see - the Rathaus looks as though it might repay a visit in daylight - it seems like a terrible pity to stay in a sanitised, could be anywhere really, chain hotel and eat in an 'international' restaurant devoid of atmosphere.

Here at the Brauhaus Joh. Albrecht, there are four regular beers on tap plus a seasonal special. I am fortunate enough to have caught the Winterbier, dark and cloudy, and really rather good. I've even got a nice table for people watching, which is good, although the wooden bar stools are a mite uncomfortable (some upholstery and a little cushioning would be nice, guys!).

Hamburg appears to have a lot of water if the number of bridges is anything to go by, and I'm looking forward to having a wander around tomorrow - there may be more beer involved - before I catch an afternoon train tomorrow.

But first, pork. I've ordered my schnitzel, a second beer is due any moment, and it's looking like a very nice evening...

A village gathers in anticipation of pie

Last year, our Parochial Church Council varied their usual village pub night, introducing homemade pie. Real ale, rabbit and pigeon pie, what could be better?

And so it was with some pleasure that I spotted, on the carpet at the bottom of the stairs a few weeks ago, a slip of paper announcing that there would be another one. I admit to having anticipated the event for some time and, this time, Ros would be able to attend too.

We were so enthusiastic indeed that we invited Ros's sister to join us, and at 7.30 p.m. sharp last night, we set off down The Lane, with plates and cutlery (as requested) in expectation of some very fine homemade pie indeed.

Unfortunately, there was no rabbit and pigeon this time, but the substitute venison pie, with a rich gravy, lived up to my fondest hopes, and the shepherd's pie was almost as excellent. Beer, supplied by Bartrams Brewery in Rougham, accompanied the pies well, and a good evening was had by all.

I'm not a baker of pies, more a consumer of them, but it was an excellent evening, with five pies to choose from - fish, chicken and vegetable, vegetable, shepherd's and venison - and if you ever happen to be in the neighbourhood for a future event, I highly recommend it.

Someone else's train, someone else's countryside

Ah yes, Belgium. Famous for its linguistic divide, its inability to form a government from time to time and for its beer. Ah, beer...

But I am here for none of these things, I am here to work. And, although my meeting doesn't start until 11.00 on Monday morning, I am carrying out some important research work first. Yesterday evening, I explored the area around Place Jourdan (alright, I admit, there may have been a little beer involved), with the Hon. Jamie, and today I am off to Liege, possibly to examine European shopping.

As a member of the ELDR Financial Advisory Committee, it is important that I have a sense of such things. The beer is merely refreshment.

It must be said though, that the countryside between Brussels and Liege is very nice, quite like Suffolk with its gentle, rolling landscape, its patchwork of green and brown. And Liege-Guillemins station is described as looking like a glass and concrete manta ray. You don't see those every day...

Observing the count... But not that sort of count...

There are no ballot papers, there are no voters, yet I am here in an official capacity. But - and those who know me will expect a 'but' - I'm in Brussels.

To be precise, I'm in "Les Postiers', a bar near the Theatre Royal de la Monnaie, nursing a glass of Rochefort, the trappist beer, rather than the cheese, as the culmination of nearly six months of bemusement approaches.

Readers may recall that I had sought the Party's nomination for a place on the reconstituted Financial Advisory Committee of the European Liberal Democrats (ELDR) during its last Council meeting in Palermo. It is perhaps indicative of the way the Party handles its international affairs, or just possibly a sign of the regard I am held in, that my name was notified to the Secretariat, and then... silence.

Eventually, word came that my name was to go forward, with four others, for consideration by the ELDR Bureau and, by the way, could I let them have a brief resume and a few words on why I wanted to serve. That was surprisingly easy, and I was told that the Bureau would meet in early March to decide. How many vacancies there were was left unsaid, and so I waited.

As it turned out, there were five vacancies, the Bureau never discovered my record of cannabalism, bank robbery and origami, and I was in.

And so, here I am, preparing for our first meeting, tomorrow morning. Except, I'm not sure exactly what I'm preparing for. Yes, I've read the papers - and very nice they are too - and I have my number-crunching head on, so all should be well. It's just that I feel a bit... unsure about the whole thing.

Ah well, only fifteen hours until the moment of truth. Wish me luck!...

I'm not only here for the beer

I'm on my way home after another night in the big city. As part of Ros's programme to ensure that I don't become completely disconnected from urban life, I was invited to a CAMRA reception at the House of Commons, and the opportunity to spend a midweek evening with Ros and drink free beer was too good to miss.

The recent controversy concerning the MP for Falkirk has meant that the spotlight has fallen on politicians and their drinking. In a building which has a surprising number of drinking holes, and with far too many evenings when MPs and Peers have to hang around waiting to vote, the scope for excessive drinking is great.

Perhaps it wasn't surprising that 150 Parliamentarians had registered for the event, but it was evident that whilst some were clearly 'only here for the beer', others are keen to support CAMRA's campaigning to save pubs and break the pubcos and their grip on the licenced trade.

For those of us who live in rural communities, pubs are important, and we're particularly fortunate in Suffolk in that the survival rate of village pubs is relatively high, helped by the emergence of gastropubs where the quality of the beer is a key element in their success.

Using pubs as more than just a place to eat and drink helps too, and bringing things like community shops and post offices under one roof creates potentially sustainable community hubs.

And, of course, Suffolk is a major producer of ale, with Greene King at Bury St Edmunds, Adnams at Southwold, plus a number of smaller breweries - St Peters in the Elmhams, the Rougham Brewery (purveyors of fine ale to Creeting St Peter pub nights) and the Earl Soham Brewery to name but three of my favourites.

So, pubs and beer are important, and well worth a trip to London to support. And I even squeezed in a polite chat with Gareth Epps. Beer - it's good for a surprising number of things...

Saxon, drugs and Dixieland

Having beaten the ash cloud back to Blighty, I should take this opportunity to report back on my trip to Dresden. My apologies if this sounds a bit like an advert for the German Tourism Board...

Alright, I would be the first to admit that Saxony wasn't all that high on the list of places on my 'wouldn't it be nice to go there?' list, but given that ELDR Council was being held there on a Friday afternoon, it seemed foolish not to make a weekend of it, even more so as Ros was going to be with me.

And what a remarkably nice place it is. Dresden itself has rebuilt many of its historic jewels, and is a compact enough city to be easily explorable on foot. And to make things even better, the sun was shining, and the annual Dixieland Jazz Festival was on, with jazz bands performing for free across the city centre.

There is no shortage of good hotels, and our choice, the Holiday Inn in the Albertstadt suburb, was comfortable, with a generous breakfast buffet, free wi-fi, and all of the stuff that makes staying in a business hotel worth doing.

The public transport system is really accessible too, and a family day ticket for the Region surrounding Dresden, including all the way to the Czech border, is just €15 for two adults and up to four children under the age of 14.

Saturday was spent exploring the Altstadt, having lunch and taking a river cruise. On Sunday, however, we went on an adventure, taking the S-Bahn to Bad Schandau, a small spa town near the Czech border, a really pretty little town. There, we took a vintage tram up the valley of a tributary of the Elbe, to an artificial waterfall, before returning to the town for a gentle stroll.

We took the long way back, using a Regional Bahn route from Bad Schandau to Pirna that, if it had been in England, would surely have been closed by now. And yet the rolling stock was new, clean and comfortable, with large windows to stare out of at the Saxon countryside.

We ate well, enjoyed some decent, locally produced Saxon beer, and generally had a great time. So much so, in fact, that we're thinking about going back in September. After all, it's only two hours from Prague by train...

A really meaningful day out

When I'm on the road, I do like to catch a really good museum, especially one that challenges and informs. It was therefore a great pleasure to find that Cincinnati hosts the National Underground Railroad Museum, dedicated to recording the history of those who aided runaway slaves to find freedom in the North, and of slavery itself. It would be very easy to just airbrush this shameful episode in American history out of the picture but, in fairness, Cincinnati has made a real effort by building an excellent exhibition space and putting it in a prominent location, right on the riverfront between the new Paul Brown Stadium (Cincinnati Bengals football - gridiron for my British audience) and the new Great American Ballpark (Cincinnati Reds baseball).

The exhibit includes an actual slave pen, interactive exhibits, animated films on themes related to freedom and enough historical information to keep anyone with a conscience busy for hours. Most interesting of all, is the evidence that simply making it to a free state was not good enough. The 1850 Fugitive Slave Act allowed those hunting runaway slaves to enter the free states, recapture fugitives, and return them to the South in chains. It even led to the kidnapping of hitherto free citizens in places as far north as New York.

Another piece of information that I had not been previously aware of was that women had been given voting rights in some states after independence, and that this right was gradually taken away from them in the early years of the nineteenth century. All in all, a really good exhibit and, if you're ever in the Cincinnati area, I would strongly recommend a visit.

Next, to the Cincinnati Reds Hall of Fame. I spent a number of years watching the Reds play baseball, trying to catch a game most years and I discovered that the game I saw in 1999 in Denver against the Colorado Rockies was the game in which the Reds scored their highest number of runs on the road since 1900 (the game ended 24-12). And I was there... The Cincinnati Red Stockings were America's very first professional baseball team (1869) and have a key place in the history of the sport. Given my fondness for numbers, it won't surprise you to know that I find baseball statistics fascinating...

Finally, back to the Hofbrauhaus for more beer and schnitzel. The beer is brewed according to the German purity laws under licence and supervision of the Staatliches Hofbrauhaus in Munich. So, real beer, great schnitzel and men singing German drinking songs in German. Weird...

Man, leather trousers, accordion, and it's not a fetish club, so...

... I must be in a Kentucky recreation of a German bierkeller. Obvious, really.

And, I have to admit, it's a pretty good one. The beer, very German tasting, is served in litres and half-litres, they serve a mean weisswurst and there are men singing German drinking songs armed only with a drumkit and an accordion. So far, so good.

It never fails to surprise how heavily influenced the Midwest is by Europe. Chicago has a huge Polish community, Milwaukee is very German (the mascots for the Milwaukee Brewers are giant sausages...) and Minneapolis is Scandinavian. Cincinnati tends towards German, with a suburb called Over-the-Rhine, and an enthusiasm for beer (and none of that ghastly standard American stuff, either). They like pretzels too, served properly, with mustard.

Cincinnati is, it's fair to say, quite familar to a European. It has a real heart, with things happening in the downtown areas, and a proper public transportation system, with buses that run regularly and have decent passenger numbers. I'm quite impressed but then, with a cat named after the city, you aren't too surprised, are you?

Anyway, I've enjoyed some beer, so it's time for sleep...

Faceless bureaucrat in the city

Whilst it isn't very early in the morning, the five hour time difference makes it feel as though it is. Yes, you're right, I'm on the move again, attending another family wedding, this time, my second cousin, Leon (It was his elder brother who got married in Mumbai in December). Leon has managed to reintroduce Judaism back into the family after I carelessly misplaced Rachelle, and he and Patti get married on Sunday, here in New York.

My hotel room is very impressive, with a computer and free internet access, thus allowing me to blog my way through the weekend and catch up with some paperwork (sad, or what?).

New York doesn't change. Despite my being a fairly adventurous traveller, I still find myself drawn to the concrete canyons of this place, looking up until my neck hurts. It really is an amazing place. Tomorrow, I'm hoping to do a little shopping before the rehearsal dinner and drinks at the Heartland Brewery afterwards. I got in a little practice earlier (practice makes perfect!) and can recommend both their wheat beer and their Irish red.