Burns and Beer

I wonder what others think

When I come out alone to have a drink.

Just because my breath may stink

Doesn’t mean that I’m on the brink.

It’s just a way of killing time

Like writing down things that rhyme.

Altogether I’m feeling fine

And there’s not really any depressive signs.

You may think that I’m slightly mad

To be alone with the beer that I’ve had

Or you may feel a little bit sad

To find that I’m not out with the lads.

The truth is that I’m on a trail

To find the country’s very best ale.

From the Southern Coast to the Yorkshire Dales,

I’ve travelled around by bus, foot and by rail.

For every beer I give a score

And the ones that I’ve never tried before

Are recorded so that I don’t drink more

And make my poor old liver sore.

It would be an amazing dream

If I was able and keen

To visit all the pubs I’ve seen

In all these magazines.