It's Official - I'm Not An Old Man...Yet!

It's that time of year when New Century Hall, house and the surrounding parts of Manchester are overrun by the strangest of English breeds.

As the office workers of the Co-Operative Group attempt to go about their daily roles they are having to fight their way through the latest group to take over the conference hall.

No it isn't the latest auditions for X-factor, but the 2009 National Winter Ales Festival! For the couple of years that I've worked in the office building next door, you begin to know something is afoot when various vans of all sizes and from all parts of the country start appearing. This is followed by a certain level of excitement amongst some of my co-workers (mentioning no names - Mark & James).

Finally, as the queues begin to form at the front doors you know that its Real Ale time.

Now these people all have a certain look to them, and it isn't just confined to a "Rochdale Pioneer" vibe (even though they wouldn't look out of place)

As soon as you see the carefully styled beard or sideburns, the pot bellies and the ruddy complexion you know something is going on. Couple that with the waistcoats, baggy cords or fleece jackets, then you know you've probably got an infestation of Ale drinkers.

You know its true, when you realise that they are all wandering about with their own pewter tankards.

Does constantly drinking from the same cup make it taste better? The other giveaway that the "beer Festival" is underway is the lack of females, unless they are all hidden under false beards like the stoning crowd from the life of Brian.

Another odd sign is the guides and helpers sat, or rather slumped, by doorways wearing their "Volunteer" t-shirts, a large bunch of keys on their belt, smelling of stale beer.

We were pleased to see our first "Victim" of the festival at approximately 2 o'clock in the afternoon, a chap, his tankard in one hand, throwing up onto the tram tracks.

As if that wasn't bad enough - it was the site of the two grubby Manchester Pigeons discussing the merits of the old fashioned brewing process that went into the vomit.

Oh well, only two more days to go. Bring on the the Morris Dancers!