Say it isn't so...

Guinness.

The very word, to many people the world over, conjures up so many images. For me, there are three things that come to mind immediately.

Years and years ago in the UK, there was this one Guinness television commercial that I still remember. A grizzled barman pulls a slow, deliberate pint of the black velvet into a glass. After the brew settles, the drinker then takes a pen and crudely writes his initials in the thick, luxurious head of the Irish nectar. Slowly, the glass is raised and even more slowly the beer is consumed. At the end, the camera moves in to show the foam in the bottom of the glass, the initials still intact and quite visible.

A few short years after that, while on a camping trip with the Boy Scouts (yes, I know…) we visited the Guinness brewery in Dublin. To say that our Scoutmaster was a lenient sort would be an understatement. Fact: the following summer in Kandersteg, Switzerland, there was an unfortunate “incident” involving local wine, a railway embankment, a fast-moving river and the local police. Suffice to say I consequently developed an “allergy” to wine – something that stayed with me for the longest time. Anyway, we were somehow “able” to sample small amounts of this local brew. I have to admit, back then, in my early teens, my palate was not what it is today and I really did not like it much. I did, however, consume enough to the point of walking into an electrical box on the Dublin streets shortly thereafter. Twice. Resulting in some interesting facial bruising and the assistance of friends to concoct a believable tale for any and all authority figures over the next few days – my parents back in Glasgow included.

My third memory fast forwards a few years. I was working with the largest private publishing firm in the UK. “Headquartered” in Dundee, Scotland. During my time there, I wrote many different pieces; from articles for some of their local, daily newspapers to horoscopes for popular women’s magazines; from World War Two scripts for adventure comic books to “Dear Abby” type advice columns. Practically every Friday lunchtime, shortly after being paid (in cash!) a number of us would wander over to our favourite Indian restaurant and eat the hottest dishes we could manage, washing them down with a few pints of Guinness. Needless to say, the combination was deadly. People would go out of their way Friday afternoons to avoid the newsroom. Copy boys would rather be berated by fierce, draconian editors then venture into the haze of that soiled, wrongly-warm environment…

In today’s Toronto Star (thanks to the LA Times) there is a story – “Irish stew over fate of beloved Guinness”. Long story short, it seems that the consumption of Guinness in Ireland is declining thanks to the influence of imported beers. These beers are persuading a younger generation in their drinking habits. One brand was mentioned by name. Budweiser. To me, that’s not beer. I consumed some wonderful beers growing up in Scotland. Since moving to Canada over 30 years ago, I have yet to develop a taste for North American beers. Too cold. Too fizzy. Not enough taste.

Now, Guinness sells more beer in Nigeria than it does in Ireland. An amazing statistic considering Ireland is the world’s second biggest beer-drinking market after the Czech Republic.

I find all of this hard to swallow.