This morning, while walking my dog past the top-secret bottling facility, a man driving a forklift full of cases of red stripe beer had evidently just taken a too-sharp turn, or landed in a pothole, or had been drinking too much of his cargo, because his forklift was parked and in front of it was a river of freshly flowing beer from freshly broken bottles. And while this might seem a good dream to many people, myself included sometimes, actually, it wasn’t the most satisfying pool to wade in at nine in the morning. I share this with you now only so that, in this regard at least, you might better separate the dream from the reality. So remember: a river of beer by any other name… isn’t easy on the olfactories.