Brewery (Mental) Breakdown

Monty has reviewed beers, which is impressive until you realise that approximately 29% of them got a 6.5, a score that in his world means everything from "it's fine" to "I'm drunk and emotional." His rating scale runs from 6.5 to 6.5, with occasional detours to 7 when he wants you to know he tried harder than usual.

He describes beers the way a man describes his feelings: vaguely, with a caveat, and usually by comparing them to Ollie. "It's got character, unlike Ollie." "It's a bit bland, like Ollie." "It's forgettable, like Ollie." At this point Ollie is less a person and more a flavour profile. Monty has used Ollie as a benchmark for mediocrity so many times it's practically a style category: sessionable, inoffensive, Ollie-esque.

He cannot commit to a number. He gave Loco Bot an 8 while clarifying he would have given it a 7.75. He rated Fineapple a 7 then immediately added "(update this is really a 4.5)". One beer got reviewed via voice note — the review was "oh no, no I don't like no." Pulitzer stuff. He also gave a beer an 8 specifically because "I'm not wearing shorts," which raises serious questions about what happens to his ratings in July.

The high point of Monty's literary career came when he described Miami Weisse as confirming "what I knew all along, that I'm a genius, at everything I do." He rated it a 7. He also told us that Willemina Many Mates taught him that "women, they can be quite good." A pioneer. His beer #100 — a landmark moment — got the review: "NUMBER 100!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" Sixteen exclamation marks. Immortal prose.

Finally: he cried during Treat Day. He was rating a beer. He was crying. He noted this. It is in the permanent record.

Tom is a man on a journey of self-discovery, and that journey is almost entirely conducted through West Coast IPAs. Across ratings he has asked himself, on the record: "Am I becoming a westie?" Then: "Am I a stout man?" Then: "Am I a coffee man too?" Tom is experiencing an identity crisis, one £7 pint at a time, and he is losing.

His review style is relentlessly, almost pathologically even-handed. A remarkable 31% of his ratings are a 6.5. His reviews include: "yeah solid, don't have much to say," "just a westie innit," "just a lager innit," and "as lager goes it's alright." Tom has "innit" energy. He is the kind of person who, when asked to describe a beer, says "it's another one of those" and considers that job done.

The most revealing moment in Tom's reviewing career was the Skoosh, which he awarded a perfectly respectable 7 — then immediately noted he would rate it down in future because it's Ollie's go-to. Tom gave a beer a pre-emptive downgrade out of spite for a flatmate. This is not a review. This is a grudge with a number on it.

He gave himself BOA as a self-review: "very average like myself." He compared himself to Ollie twice (no bad characteristics, also nothing special). He described Rizzy as "absolute dangerous percentage, could be a wicked leveller for Tom," and then gave it an 8, making it unclear whether this is praise or a threat. His lone 9 — the highest score in the entire dataset — went to Hackney Brewery's Boogie Van. Hackney Brewery, which has since closed. Tom's greatest love story: a tap room that no longer exists.

He also needs to go to Madrid. He has mentioned this twice. He hasn't gone.

Ollie has contributed ratings to this project. The other two have contributed . Ollie accounts for roughly of all reviews, which is to say: Ollie is a vibe, not a reviewer. He is the Schrödinger's flatmate of this project — simultaneously present enough to be insulted in every review, and absent enough that his own opinions barely fill a side of A4.

When he does show up, the results are memorable. He rated Pier Pressure a 5, noting "the percentage is nearly higher than the girls age I'm dating." He rated Fineapple a 7 with the justification "because I'm an entitled nonce," which is at least self-aware. He described himself with a 5.0 beer: "not much to it, a bit like me." He rated Boogie Van a 7 and admitted "I gave it this because Tom likes it," confirming that Ollie does not have opinions so much as he has a social strategy.

His final three reviews all mention Fiona. His very last comment ends: "I'm a legend and just messaged Fiona (I wish she would message me)." This is the most emotionally complex thing Ollie has written in this entire dataset. He peaked with a 7.5 on Skoosh, which he called "a little sip of perfection" — and given he's only shown up times, you get the sense he's saving himself for the right moment. The moment has not come. Fiona has not replied.

The note also reads, at one point, "(he hates it here, Tory)." That's not our addition. That's just in there.

Together, the three of you have tried beers and left ratings, mostly 6.5. You have described beers as "seshy," "thiccc," "lagery," and once, unforgettably, "an old man ale that tastes of red." You have mourned Hackney Brewery like a lost parent. You have used "innit" as punctuation. You once rated a cask ale called Drench specifically to lower your own averages, which is not something a normal person does.

The brewery you've visited the most is Pretty Decent, with beers tried — a number that has led to at least four independent reviews mentioning sulphur, six uses of "classic pretty decent" as though it explains everything (it does), and one entry that simply reads "see all above westies." You have collectively asked whether Pretty Decent is just carried by its names. Reader, it might be.

At its best, this project has produced moments of genuine beauty: Monty calling Berry Springer Sour "like drinking watermelon scented bathroom cleaner," Tom declaring that Texas "dodged a bullet," and the IPA at Big Penny Social receiving a 3.5 with the note "it's terrible, who would order this (only Ollie, the nonce)." These are not beer reviews. These are dispatches from a very specific life, and they are, without question, more interesting than anything on Untappd.

Keep going. You've got beers left on the mile.