It's boom time for CAMRA

The annual meeting on the Isle of Man celebrated the organisation's high-profile stature.

I have to warn you that my space this week is devoted to an event that took place between 16 and 19 April, which in the age of 24-hour news and instant communications is rather like reporting on the end of the Boer War. My laggardly behaviour will go some way to explaining my embarrassing howler of two weeks ago when I said the general election was the most boring on record.

Egg on face — but in a long journalistic career I have gathered sufficient yolk on my visage to open an omelette restaurant. The piece was written following the first leaders' debate, but before the impact of Nick Clegg's contribution was reflected in the polls. As I am conscious you will be reading this on election day, I think it best to steer well away from the subject of politics.

My feeble excuse is that I was dashing to the Isle of Man for the annual meeting of CAMRA, the Campaign for Real Ale. It should have been a doddle: one hour by plane from Luton to Douglas. But then the volcanic dust rained down and I faced a 10-hour journey by train and ferry and decided not to lug my heavy laptop with me.

By the time I returned home and caught up with the LibDem surge in the polls, my page had gone to press. The yolk was on me, as they say.

So, better late than never, I can report that the CAMRA meeting was not only a great success but was remarkably well attended.

But perhaps that's not so remarkable, for what singles CAMRA out from most other organisations in and around beer and pubs is the quite astonishing level of self-sacrifice shown by the campaign's members.

When you consider that thousands of them devote the long winter months to visiting, checking and choosing pubs for the Good Beer Guide, getting to the Isle of Man is akin to rolling over in bed. Such is the enthusiasm for the cause, I have no doubt some of the members would have swum from Liverpool to Douglas rather than wait for the ferry — especially as the bar on the boat serves only keg beer.

CAMRA is a curiously British institution. Similar organisations have been tried in other countries, but with limited success. The campaign's sister organisations in the European Beer Consumers' Union are equally passionate, but shy away from the intense lobbying CAMRA routinely undertakes.

The campaign was born out of that dogged British determination to never take no for an answer, to kick down locked doors, to be acutely sceptical of market research and smooth-talking PR people and, even when flat on the floor with a bloody nose, to get up and keep on fighting.

Next year, CAMRA will celebrate its 40th birthday. Today it has 112,000 members. The number has almost doubled in a decade and is likely to be considerably higher by 2011. The reason for the surge in membership is again a British phenomenon: a bloody-minded attitude that says, "Don't tell me what to drink — I'll decide."

In an age of saturation mass advertising, with millions thrown at global lager brands, it seemed in the late 1980s and early '90s that CAMRA was a spent force and would quietly decline into a grumpy old men's drinking club. How wrong was that view. Membership has boomed, mushroomed. Beer lovers have ignored the blandishments of the advertising for global brands and switched back to cask beers.

But the growth in membership and influence is a complex one. It's about more than knowing the original gravity of Old Knickerbocker and preferring it served with a tight sparkler. Many people who join CAMRA today are a long way removed from the beer-and-sandals stereotype of old. They are the new, green generation who care about the food and drink they consume. They want to know where their beer is brewed and the ingredients used. They are wary of big brands trunked vast distances from vast beer factories run by computers rather than craftsmen.

The members meeting in Douglas last month were almost dizzy with success. CAMRA is listened to with respect by parliaments in Westminster, Edinburgh, Cardiff and Brussels. Cask beer is the only — albeit small — growth sector of the brewing industry. The campaign's income shows robust good health and beer festivals not only pull in the crowds, but last year contributed £840,000 to central funds.

Reshuffle​

The campaign has a new national chairman, Colin Valentine from Edinburgh, the first Scot to chair CAMRA, a man who is media savvy and with a fine sense of humour. His MP happens to be the current Chancellor, Alistair Darling, who may live to regret that his regular hikes in duty have incensed one of his high-profile constituents.

CAMRA's chief executive, Mike Benner, while stressing the successes of recent years, was quick to quash any feelings of complacency. He said that reform of the pubco tie, saving community pubs and demanding that a new Government tackle the threat to pubs posed by supermarket discounts had to remain at the forefront of the campaign's activities.

But, as we downed the occasional ale between conference sessions, we allowed ourselves a small, collective pat on the back. Britain's unique beer style is alive and well — but not yet on the Isle of Man ferry.