In October 2008, I penned the very first Malthouse blog which was, appropriately enough, titled the “Pursuit of Hoppiness”. That was a phrase I first heard in the United States at the World Beer Cup. I really liked it, and there is the added advantage that it also reflects quite nicely my beer tastes, then and now. Here is the first paragraph in full:

When I first started writing about beer the very concept that people in Upper Hutt would even be drinking craft beer seemed rather farfetched (at best). Around that time, I was asked at a regular tasting event in an undisclosed location in Wallaceville “where can I find good beer around here?” and my (non-sarcastic) answer was “Wellington”.

This week my personal beer hell continues with a second straight column all about sour beers. I have grabbed the title of this blog from a Chinese proverb because my own quotations about sour beers would generally be caught and deleted by even the most basic profanity filter.

This is a day I have long been dreading. Not only is today the introduction of pink ball cricket into New Zealand but also the exact instance I have to start blogging about sour beers. Not just once, I have to do it again next week as well.

As a professional beer writer, many people like to send me pictures of the beer they are drinking and ask my opinion about it. Last night my phone beeped three times in rapid succession at the family dinner table. Questioned about who was texting me, I had to confess it was a sitting Member of Parliament sending me a photograph of the beer he was enjoying.

So, Donald Trump is the President of the United States