Knockengorroch and the mystery of mead

So it’s been a wee while since I’ve drunk much in the way of mead, as I’ve been trying to give my a liver another rest. It’s a dangerous role being a drinker of mead.

However after the excesses of last weekend, my liver is undoubtedly suffering again and in the mix may have been some mead?

After a hectic month of work, hey who am I trying to kid, after a hectic year of work I escaped to the hills of Galloway for a bimbling quiet (but unsuccessful) quest for Scottish mead and a certain degree of festival excess.

Knockengorroch is far enough away from people, the police and health and safety that the last 15 years seemed to have passed it by. This is a festival with a vibe from before the days of the criminal justice act, and the criminalisation of everything that wasn’t part of Thatcher’s vision of a semi detached house in Surbiton.

Recent media hysteria has boosted the profile of Buckfast to that of a Scottish legend. The more you try and pin all the ills of society on one particular drink the more you glamorise is. Perhaps if politicians had the guts to deal with societies problems then people wouldn’t be so keen to embrace oblivion in a bottle.

And boy was Buckfast in evidence from the teenagers, to the bar to the punk bands singing about it. I think even a folk band sang a song about Buckfast.

Also behind the bar was a Banquet mead, which presents a mystery. Apparently it came in a box and the brewer wasn’t listed. My suspicion is that it was a Lurgashall mead but this isn’t going to be the most decisive review.

Through an alcoholic haze it seemed fairly pleasant, sweet, very drinkable perhaps a bit sticky but a nice contrast to cheap nasty cider. As the first mead I’ve had from a bar, albeit a festival bar hopefully this is the herald of things to come.

Or a test of when I can safetly buy 20 litres of mead without destroying my liver, and I can taste it in a more rigerous manner