They say the good thing about bashing your head against a brick wall is that it's wonderful when you stop. I wouldn't know: my cranium has been in contact with the pebble dash for so long that all I have to show for it is scars without the pleasure.
My mission in life is to encourage people to not only drink good beer but also to appreciate its complexities, its different styles, aromas, flavours and general all-round brilliance. But just when you think you might be winning, someone adds a new layer of Purbeck stone to the wall and crack blood and a blinding headache result.
I reported last week on my visit to theSt Austell brewery in Cornwall. As I was being shown round the brewhouse and fermenting rooms, a second party of visitors were going in the opposite direction.
They were students from a local college accompanied by a lecturer. They weren't there for pleasure, but to gain experience of the brewing process for their college course.
They all looked as though they would rather be somewhere else, preferably in a bar sinking a few Breezers. One young woman was positively gagging as her nostrils were assailed by the wondrous aromas of malting barley and boiling hops. "Ugh!" and "Yuk!" she cried. By the time we bumped into the student party for a second time, she had a scarf wound round her face and looked on the point of swooning into the arms of her male companion.
It's difficult to believe that the aromas of barley and hops warm biscuits, pine and spices could so offend a young nose. But clearly the student returned to college to tell all and sundry that brewing and its associated smells are quite disgusting.
I returned home, opened the pages of my newspaper on Saturday and discovered an article about the Southwold Literary Festival in Suffolk. Among the goodies on offer in this lovely seaside town was a wine tasting conducted by Malcolm Gluck, better known as Super Plonk of The Guardian. (It's tempting to add " er" to Plonk, but good manners prevent me.)
As alert readers are aware, Southwold is home to one of the most revered small independent brewers in Britain, Adnams & Co. How perverse, with hundreds or even thousands of people packing Southwold, not to invite them to sample the joys of Adnams Bitter, Broadside and Fisherman.
But no, wine is the only drink deemed worthy of promotion. The wine tasting has nothing to do with Adnams. Mr Gluck has a book out, is anxious to promote it, and was hired by a company that specialises in running literary events. I've emailed the company offering my services for future events, but I won't hold my breath in anticipation.
Just to rub salt into my wounds, on the very same day I conducted an annual beer tasting at my sons' school. It's a state school in needs of funds and my annual tasting raised close to £1,000, which will buy a few boxes of chalk.
More than 70 people turned up. Among them was a group of six who sat immediately in front of me. They had brought several bottles of wine with them. Yes, you didn't misread that: they brought wine to a beer tasting.
They sampled the beers on offer as well and reached a state of extreme mellowness around 10pm. They said they enjoyed the beers but, just in case, had brought some juice of the grape along. They were supporting the school, which is excellent, but were so nervous of sampling beer that they needed the comfort blanket of some Bordeaux and Chardonnay.
It's announced as I write that Scottish Courage is putting warning labels on its bottles and cans, encouraging people to drink sensibly. Similar warnings, of course, will not appear on wines sold by ScotCo.
I'm now off to do a beer tasting for staff at the Campaign for Real Ale's head office, aimed in particular at newer employees with little knowledge of the brown and amber nectars. Do you think they, at least, will like the beers I've chosen?
If not, please direct me to the nearestbrick wall.