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Just as it has every single year since the invention of the Gregorian Calendar (1582 – Patent Still Pending), April is upon us again. This month has already brought people millions of chocolate eggs and/or chocolate bunnies, erratic coverage of the Commonwealth Games and footage of Australian Prime Minister Malcolm Turnbull caught live on camera butchering the famous but over rated Ozzie glam rock anthem “The Voice”.

I only follow cricket occasionally – but that occasion happens to be “pretty much whenever it is on.” Like millions around the globe I have been reading more and more details about “sandpaper-gate”, and the subsequent bans for two world-class cricketers, and Colin Bancroft.

The title of this blog is an iconic quote from one of my role models – Homer Jay Simpson. He has been (among his at least 188 jobs according to the creator) an astronaut, food critic and, in one memorable episode, the Beer Baron of Springfield.

On Saturday 17 February 2018 I boarded a train and went to the Trentham station in Upper Hutt without it being a hostage situation. In fact, I did the journey entirely of my own volition and even paid some of my hard earned dollars for the privilege. [1]

While a surprising number of New Zealanders took at least a passing interest in the Winter Olympics in Peon... Peony... Chang... the Winter Olympics in South Korea, it did not make much of an impact in my household.

I suspect there are many gentle readers of the Malthouse blog who secretly and not so secretly enjoy or even revel in reading me having to write about sour beers – particularly for two weeks in a row. It happens once a year for Sourfest, a celebration of piquant, pungent and frankly sour brews at Malty.

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