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- You don't drink it
with your eyes, mate.

That's a good pint.

Lovely drop.

- How would you describe
its flavour and profile?

- Oak-aged, brewed with molasses
and a robust malt bill.

- Nothing robust about that.

- No.

That is as dead
as a dormouse.

Door nail.

"I have eat no meat
these five days;

"yet, come thou
with thy five men,

and I do not leave you all
as dead as a door nail."

Shakespeare, Henry the Fourth.

- Yeah.

- I'll take a lager top.
- Mm.

- If you want cocktails,
I suggest you go over the road

with the rest of the
prawn sandwich brigade.

- Your sign outside
says you do food.

- Yeah, that's right.
Yeah, we do.

What do you want?

Got a drover's cottage pie.

That's what all the drovers
used to eat

when they were drovin'.

- Um, two of those, please.
- Yep.

Two drover's cottage pies
coming up.

...after every British village

town and community,

now 37 pubs every week
are calling last orders

and shutting their doors
for good.

Campaign For Real Ale

warns that without extended
governmental support--

- Bloody mammals.
- What's that?

- Middle-aged muppets in lycra

poncing around the countryside
in hot pants.

There ought to be
a law against it.

- All right.
Yeah, Dad,

I'm gonna need
your help with these accounts.

I... I can't work out
who's been paid, who hasn't.

- Yeah, don't you worry
about it, mate.

It's all logged away up here.

Now, if you'd like
to put your pinny on,

I need two cottage pies.

Then when you've done that,

you can bring
the empty barrels up

from the cellar 'cause
the delivery's coming later.

- All right.

If you shove a broomstick
up my arse,

I'll sweep the floor as well.

I'll go
and get one.

- Mornin'.
- Morning, my love.

Where we off to?

Drovers Arms, please.

- Where's your limo?

Celebrity like you,
thought you'd have a chauffeur.

See? Still know all the lyrics!

- Yeah.

- You don't recognise me,
do you?

Dawn Higgins?

We played spin the bottle
at my 13th birthday.

I should have shagged
you when I had the chance.

- Are you married?
- No.

Engaged?

No.

Dating?

No.

- Hm. The planets have aligned.

Ah, I love a man who's in touch
with his feminine side.

How do you identify?

I'm pansexual.

So, basically means
I'm up for it.

Whoever, whenever, wherever.

- Could we pull over?

- Oh, God, yeah.

Thought you'd never ask.

I love getting down and dirty
in a public place.

- How much?
- Oh, I don't charge.

I just do it
for the thrill of it.

- I mean the fare.

- Oh.

- Here's a tenner.

- What happened to sex, drugs,
and rock 'n' roll, eh?

- Shit.

Oh, shit!

Shit.

Shit!

Shit!

Look what
the cat's dragged in.

Ed!

Edward!

You'll never guess
who I've just seen.

Cal Harley.

- How'd you know that?

- My Dawn just texted me.

Picked him up
from the station.

Said he was wearing
nail varnish.

- What?

- Hm, wonder what he's doing
back.

- Probably to bail his father
out of the mess he's in.

- Hm. Not much to be said
for fame and fortune, is there?

He's a handsome bugger,

but the man looks
an absolute mess.

- It's called fashion, Edith.

Loads of rock stars dress
like homeless people.

- There you go.
Two drover's cottage pies

made to an original
family recipe.

Do you want any sauces
with that?

- Anything.

- Hello, Dad.

- I want him gone
by the time I get back.

Same again.

- This place is a madhouse.

- Jake, what's happened here?

The pub was always the life
and soul of the village.

Where did everyone go?

- Where did you go more like?

We didn't know whether
you were dead

or dancing on a beach in Bali.

- It's complicated.

- You go on the missing list
for three years

and "complicated"
is all you've got?

You're lucky he only
punched you once.

The delivery's here.

Come on.

The least you can do
is give me a hand.

- Bloody hell, this takes me
back.

Good memories down here
with you.

Helping Granddad brew.

- Save the sentimentality
for your songs.

- I know...

you'd have found a way
to forgive him.

I just don't know how.

- Cheers.

How's your mum and dad,
then, Harry? All good?

- Oh, yeah,
they're good, mate.

Yeah, they're good.
Yeah.

They've got a message for you,
actually.

They say, um, sod off.

- What's up with him?

- Well, he still blames you for
breaking up The Corn Chiefs.

- It was a high-school band.

- Yeah, well, you became famous.

He became a delivery driver.

Well, hang on.

What about our delivery?

- What about your debt?

Boss says no more deliveries

until you put your hand
in your pocket.

- How am I supposed to run a pub
without any beer?

- We're a business, Jake.

Not a charity.

If you're desperate,
you can always call Pritchard.

- What's going on?

It's complicated.

Oh, shit, Romy!

You're gonna have to drive.

I'm on a ban.

Romy, your dad's here.

Coming, miss.

- You coming?

- Probably best I stay here.

- What, are you scared
she's gonna punch you too?

- This is a school, Jake.

It's not a creche.

- I know. I know.
- I'm so sorry, Abi.

We've had an absolute shocker
at the pub today.

- Is that Uncle Cal?

- Um... yeah.

Why don't you go say hello?

So, how was she today?

- She's a great kid, Jake,
and you know I'm fond of her,

but there are 30 other kids
in the class

that need my attention, too.

- Wow. Romy, you've grown.

- Be something wrong
if I hadn't.

- Look, you don't think, um...
that, uh...

you know, there might be
something wrong with her?

Up top.

- Look, I'm not a doctor,
but I think she may have ADHD.

- Come on, every man and their
dog says they've got that.

- If you've got ADHD,

trying to focus can be--
- Cal?

- Can be really...

- You're gonna flood it.

...debilitating.

- Right, yeah,
and say she has it.

I mean, how would
she have got it?

- It's usually genetic.

- Right, yeah.

I'll have to have a think
of who that could be.

- Miss, can you give us
a jump start?

- So you're still here?

- Still here.
Still teaching.

Still happy.

They were together?

- That's awesome.
- Is it?

I thought this was the place
ambition went to die.

- God, did I really say that?
- Yeah.

Look, I...

I was a dick.

- Little bit.

The car isn't
going to start itself.

- Right.

- Really?

- Shut up.

- Nice one, Abi.

She's got more lives
than a Buddhist, this one.

- Look who it is.

- Got to admire your attempt
to go incognito, Cal.

- Good to see you too,
Pritchard.

- Oh, I heard your pumps
have run dry.

- No, just in between suppliers.

- Shall I meet you at yours?
- Perfect.

See you around,
Mr. Tambourine Man.

You're my guiding star...

Is it serious
between Abi and Pritchard?

- No idea, mate.

- God knows what she sees in
him.

- No, me neither.

You know,
apart from inheriting 170 pumps

and running
an award-winning brewery.

- Right.

Might be rolling in it,
but he's still a prize prick.

Sorry.

- I don't mind.

It's what Grandpa calls you.

At least she's honest.

Oh!

We're back.

- Hey, where's my little
ray of sunshine?

Mm, how was school?

- Oh, it was okay.

- Yeah?

- We learned about
the sea and evolution.

- Oh, yeah?

- Did you know jellyfish
have been on this planet

for more than 500 million
years,

but they still don't
have any brains?

- Oh, well, that should give
a bit of hope

to quite a few people
in this village.

What's he still doing here?

- Well, someone had to drive.

- You've got every reason
to be angry, Dad.

I've come home to apologise.

- It's not your home anymore.

- Why don't you grab a packet
of crisps and go play outside.

- What kind of son
doesn't even come

to his own mother's funeral?

- Dad, now's not the time
to be stubborn.

All right, we could do
with Cal's financial help.

- I'm broke, Jake.

- Broke?

What about your, um...
royalties and--and the Porsche?

- Lotus.

Doesn't matter.

Um... I flogged the car,

cashed in the royalties
for a lump sum...

blew the lot.

- On what?

- What do you think?

On the high life and hookers.

- I've got nowhere else
to go, Dad.

- Oh, I see. So have you
come home to apologise,

or 'cause you need a roof
over your head?

You can sleep in the cellar.

I don't want to see hide
nor hair of you.

- Siri, what's a hooker?

- Not again.

I think I've pulled a bollock.

- I'll get the wheelbarrow.

Okay.

Come on then, Paxman.

- Oh, is it a waltz or a tango?

- Just as long
as you don't twerk.

Go on. Out you go.

Clear off.

- All right. Good night.

- Good night. Good night.

Good night.

Oh, there goes
the other bollock.

- You happy with that?

Pleased with yourselves?

I mean I thought we were doing
the "Highland Mary."

That looked like
the curly-headed plow boy,

which is what everyone
at the Summer Fete

is gonna think by the way.

Jeffrey.
- Yes, Jake.

- What's going on, man?

You know what I'm gonna say,
don't you?

- Half a beat behind.
- Half a beat behind.

Yes, half a beat behind.

And what's this?

What's this?
Get your hands up!

I don't know what
you're smirking at, Christian.

All right, there's absolutely
nothing funny about this.

- You know what?
You're right.

This is way beyond
its sell-by date.

We need to evolve,
move with the times,

dance our way
into the 21st century.

- No, no, no, no.

This is about preserving
age-old traditions, Paxman.

- Just hear me out on this one.

- What the hell was that?

- Disco Morris.

- Disco Morris?

You know, there
are generations of Morris men

turning in their graves
right now.

- Well, at least they're
turning in time unlike you lot.

Ah, Michael,
fancy cutting a rug?

- Uh, no, you're all right.

You know what Thomas Beecham
said, don't you?

"Try everything in life once,

except incest
and Morris dancing."

- That's good to know, Dad.

- Toast's burning.

- Ah!

- Oh.
- Shit.

- Campaign For Real Ale just
posted a review of the pub.

- Go on. I'm a big boy.

I can take criticism
as long as it's constructive.

- The--the Drovers Arms
is overseen by Michael Harley...

a piss-poor publican
whose demeanour is as bitter

as the swill he serves.

- Go on.

- Do you mind
lowering that spoon?

Upon entering The Drovers,

one is immediately struck
by the dim lighting,

the tired decor
and palpable cloud

of hostility emanating
from the owner himself.

And if Michael Harley
doesn't flatten you,

the food and beer
definitely will.

- Oof.

- I'm gonna sue those bastards
for defamation.

- Who?

- Who d'you think?

Lance Armstrong
and Bradley bloody Wiggins.

If we can't afford
to buy beer,

we need to brew it.

- What are you talking about?

- Putting the pub back
on the map.

The only way we're gonna do that
is if we brew something unique.

- And who's gonna drink it?

- If we make a name
for ourselves,

it gives the pub a new identity

and, you know,
more people will come.

- Cal, it takes years to learn
how to craft a half-decent ale.

- Well, luckily for us,

we've got 50 years of knowledge
right here.

Look, all of Granddad's notes.

Diagrams, brewing recipes,

written down
in one very large book.

Look,
we're not kids anymore.

And a few pints of home brew

ain't gonna put us back
in the black.

- We could produce
600 litres a time.

It's 80% profit.

- It's only profitable
if you've got customers

and they're in short supply.

- You do know
there's a pub directly opposite

that's packed out day and
night?

- Yeah, a pub that's just won
CAMRA's Best British Beer Award

two years on the trot.

Yeah.

See you Thursday
for bell ringing.

Nice day for it.

Sun's certainly brought
the birds out.

- Seen any rare species?

- Just ticked off
a spectacular redhead.

- Woodpecker or finch?

- She's up for anything, mate.

Cal. He's not a twitcher.

- Oh, my god, Cal.

Fancy seeing you here.
If I'd have known,

I'd have put you
on the group chat.

- No. No, no, no.
It's not what it looks like.

- Oh.

- Shit.

- Grandpa?

- Yeah?

- What's "dogging"?

- Ah, hello, Mick.

- All right, Jim?

- Yeah.

Well, no harm done, lads.

A little bit weird.

- It wasn't weird.
It was...

it was a misunderstanding.

- Yeah, yeah, of course it was.

Yeah. Well.
I'll let you go, eh?

- Cheers, Jim.
- Cheers.

See you, then.

Beekeeping.

- What are you doing
with all that?

I'm not baking a cake, am I?

Can you give me a hand?

- No. You're all right.

- Nice bin bag.

- It's a poncho.

- Hey, look...

- Gerald said
he couldn't believe it

when he waltzed into
the farm shop with his list.

Too cocksure by half.

- Well, I've heard he's dug out

his grandfather's
old microbrewery

and wants to have a go himself.

- Maybe they'll surprise us all.

- Ah, he may have been bequeathed
his grandfather's brewing kit,

it doesn't mean he's inherited
his knowledge or palate.

He--he's a cider man at best.

That's a low blow.

- What are you doing?

- What humans have been doing
for thousands of years.

Making water more interesting.

- Definitely...
Bosh!

Hey.

What are you doing?

- Uh, writing.

- Shopping list?

- Song lyrics.

- I hope it's better
than the second album of yours.

- You listened?

- Yeah...

but it wasn't you.

- Yeah. Curse of
the second album.

Is that why you came back?

Thought you'd try your hand
at brewing beer?

They're all talking
about it, you know.

You managed
to perplex some people

and ruffle a few feathers.

- Yeah?
Your boyfriend's scared

of a little bit
of healthy competition?

- Don't say boyfriend.
- Why?

- Because I'm too old to have one
and he's too old to be one.

- So how about silver spooner?

Or actually, you know what?
My favourite.

Just a good old-fashioned
posh twat.

Abs, come on.

That's the guy that dobbed us
in to your mum

about our very good fake IDs.

- He's changed.

- So have I.

I came back to see you
after my first tour.

I just wanted to apologize.

But you'd moved in
with James Bradley.

- What did you expect me to do?

Sit around pining for you
whilst you sung love songs

about other women?

- Every song was about you.

- Seriously?

You idiot.

Oh, sorry, sorry, my bad.

Ah.

- Ow! Paxman!

This is a shambles.

We need to go back
to what we know.

- No, look. I know the timing
was a little off,

but we're not changing
horses midstream.

- No, that is exactly
what we're doing.

Next practice, we're going
back to the Highland Mary.

Bloody Disco Morris.

Jake. Jakey.

You all right, mate?

- No, I think
I've got concussion.

How much should I
aim for, just?

About two and a half.

Is it really?

All right, let's do this
and get home.

- Oh, shit.

- Lads!

- Oh, no sodding way.

Absolutely no sodding way.

Get off it!
Get down!

- Don't embarrass yourself,
mate.

- No! You already took the TVs.

You're not getting my music.

- Oh, yeah?

You and whose army?

- This one.

- Leave that where it is
or we'll shove these sticks

where the sun don't shine.

And I don't mean Bristol.

- You folded like a deckchair.

- You see where they wanted
to put that stick.

I've got to sit down
and drive home, mate.

- I ain't calling head office.
You can.

- Thanks for that, lads.

I would normally offer
you a pint on the house,

but I've got no draft.

I've got bottles,
and I've got spirits.

All Benylin.

Well, if anyone's
feeling brave enough,

I could do
with an opinion on this.

- What is it?

- It's a traditional
single-infusion mash style,

with double dried
East Kent Golding hops

in a blend of Irish malt.

- I'll take my chances.

You insured?

Here you go.

- Crikey, that'll put hairs
on your chest.

- You wanna try it, Dad?

- No, I haven't got a thirst.

- I'll give it a go.

Here you go.

Here you go.

- Cheers.
- Cheers.

Oh... That should be served
in a sherry glass.

- Come on.

Remember what Granddad
used to say.

"It ain't fair to judge a pint
until you've sunk a few."

Ay, true.

- All right, line 'em up.

- All right!

- Hell's Bells?

- Hell's Bells!

- I've got it.

- Yay!

- Hey, you're not laughing now,

are you, Christian?

Morning, gorgeous.

How you feeling?

- Ahh.

Like something Keith Richards
coughed up.

- Sorry, mate.

It was a mistake.

- It was a toxin,
is what it was.

Look, I blame
Granddad's handwriting.

Must've been a three,
not an eight.

- Eight what?

- Pounds of sugar.

- You put eight pounds of sugar
into a brew?

That could be classed
as attempted murder.

Well, surely you were tasting it
as you went along?

Oh, no.

Oh, don't tell me
you're teetotal.

Cal, how are you supposed
to brew a beer

if you can't even drink one?

- All right, look.

I screwed up.
I did.

But I think I'm onto
something special this time.

A mild ale Granddad
was working on

before he passed away.

A lifetime's work channelled
into one winning beer

he never got the chance to
brew.

I mean, we do this right,

not only could we start
turning a profit,

but we could enter
CAMRA's Southwest

Regional Tastings with it.

- Please stop talking.
- No.

Qualifying rounds
are being held here

in the village at the fete.

Then the finals are going to be
in London in August,

and... check this.

The winners of the
2010 Best Bitter category

were a microbrewery,
just like us.

They went on to sell out
to Budweiser and hit pay dirt!

I mean, brewing's
in our blood, Jake.

If Pritchard can do it,
why can't we?

- Same reason you
can't write another hit song.

Hello?

Yeah. I'm on my way.

Romy's been suspended
from school

for throwing a drink
at another pupil.

Romy.

- What?

- You're supposed to be
doing science homework.

- Brewing is a science.

- Don't get smart with me.

- I'm not.
It's what Uncle Cal said.

- She's reading, mate.

Glass half full and all that.

- Oh, for God's sake.

Dad, you swore blind
you'd been in contact

with the mortgage company.

- Oh, yeah, I forgot.

- Forgetting a debt
doesn't mean it forgets you.

- All right,
you find me a money tree,

I'll go and shake it.

- Dad, it says here that we've
got 14 days to find 10 grand

or they're gonna start
repossession proceedings.

- Something will turn up,
it always does.

So I don't
really know how to say this

without sounding
like a 16-year-old again,

but I wrote this song for you.

I hope you like it.

- I'll give you three grand
for it.

- Five.
- Four.

I want a signature
for provenance.

Helps with any future sale.

- But I'm selling it to you.

- It's a business, mate.

Not a museum.

- I'm sorry, gorgeous.

- What's that?

- My investment
into our future.

- I thought you said
you were skint?

- Sold my guitar.

- There you go.

Told you
something would turn up.

- Oh, well, that's just
brilliant, that is.

Now, before
you couldn't even say his name.

Now you're in his pocket.

Money's money, Jake.

- Well done, Cal.

You know,
you've got a real talent

for making everything about
you.

- No, it's about making money.

And in six weeks' time,

we'll have another 180 litres
of ale to sell.

- Yeah, only if it's drinkable.

And judging
by the last pint you brewed,

I'm not holding out much hope.

- No one made you
sink seven of them.

- The bottom line
is we've got mortgage arrears

coming out of our arse,
bloody council tax,

heating, electricity, water.

The list goes on and on.

- I am just trying to help.

- Help?

We've needed your
help for years.

And you wait
until you've run out of money

and become completely
bloody useless

to turn up on your white horse.

Now, I'm sorry, Cal.

Look, no one is more proud
of you than me.

But while you've been swanning
about being a rock star,

I've been here trying
to hold everything together.

And what have I got
to show for it?

- You've got Romy.

- Yeah, well...

this is still not enough.

- Well, if you get
any bright ideas...

be my guest.

This is Rural FM,

where sheep jive
and tractors vibe.

David Ray Jenkins here
with a Birchbury bombshell.

Tonight, The Drovers Arms--
somehow still open for trade--

is hosting a pub comeback

for local one-hit wonder
Cal Harley.

Remember him?
Me neither.

But for those who do,

head on down and have
a Bacardi breezer or two.

- I don't believe it.

- What?

It's The Drovers.

- Is it on fire?

- They've got bloody customers.

- Customers?

- That's a sight
I never thought I'd see.

- What can I get for you?
- Another pint, please.

- Cal Harley!
- Why don't you hang on?

What's he doing?

What is that?

- We've got plenty of wine,
ladies.

No, that's--
- Jake.

- Oh.
- Get over here!

- You said come up
with a bright idea.

- Yeah.

Sing again, please.

Yeah.

- So, that's what it's like
to have adoring fans.

They look intense.

- They look about
one Bacardi breezer

away from dropping
their knickers.

- Yeah, don't blame them.

I may have been
through the change,

but I'd still give him one.

- Mum!
- What?

I'm just saying
what we're all thinking.

- Hey, where's he going?

- I don't look as desperate
as that, do I, Mum?

- Yeah.

- Cal?

Cal, are you okay?

Cal, what's going on?

- What's happenin'?

- Are you back on it again?

Well, what's going on?

I'm having a panic attack.

- Well, come on, this is no time
to get stage fright.

We're taking more money
in there tonight

than we have all year.

- Just take some deep breaths.

No, he can breathe later.

Right now, he needs
to get back in there.

You know, mix it up,
put on a show.

- I can't.

I'm not that person anymore,
mate.

- Well, just pretend.

- I'm not well, Dad.

- What do you mean?

- I was sectioned.

I'd been in a bad way
for a while...

and then when I heard
Mum had died,

I just unravelled.

I hated myself so much
I had to make it stop.

- Go on.

- I tried to kill myself.

- Bloody hell, mate.

- I just wanted it to stop...

everything.

- Why didn't you call us?

- I was ashamed.

- You stupid bastard.

You stupid, stupid bastard.

- I'm sorry that I was a coward.

- No, you're not.

There isn't a day goes
by when I don't think

about doing the same thing.

The only thing that stops me
is the mess I'd leave behind.

And you ain't no coward.

You're my boy.

He looked... broken.

- That's what drink
and drugs does.

- He had a nervous breakdown,
Ed.

Since when have you cared?

- No matter what you think
about him,

you have to agree
that what's happened

to that family is tragic.

- Tragedies happen
in families all the time.

I've lost my parents.

Shit happens.

- I kept this for you.

- It was a beautiful service.

- Yeah, it was.

- Exactly how Mum wanted it.

- All the words,
all the readings...

all the songs.

- Thanks, Dad.
- Yes, mate.

- What's this, happy hour?

- It was a lot happier
before you came in.

What do you want?

- I want to buy the pub.

- It's not for sale.
- Slow down, Dad.

Let's hear what he's got to
say.

- We all know
this is a dying trade

without proper
financial backing.

- He's not wrong.
- You keep out of this.

- But 50 places like this
close down every month.

Luckily for you,

there's space in my portfolio
for the Drovers.

At a fair price.

- We don't need your money.

- Oh, yeah, I heard.

You're going to try
and brew your way out of this.

You know, creating a beer

isn't like writing
a cheesy pop song.

It took my family 140 years
to perfect the perfect pint.

- Listen,
you won a couple of prizes.

The way I see it,
you put silk on a goat,

it's still a goat.

- Is it?

If you think you can do better,

why don't you step up
and be judged?

- Well, that's exactly what we
are going to do, Edward.

So we'll see you at the
CAMRA Regional Tastings.

How do you like that?

- Looks like you're not
the only one who flew

over the cuckoo's nest.

- Say that again.

- Leave it.

- You've broken my nose.

- No, mate.

Your mouth did that.

Well?

- They charged me with ABH.

Bailed me till the end
of the month.

- Sorry, lads.
Best I could do.

But you might want
to calm things down

a little bit, yeah?

A bit of dogging here,
violent assault there.

People are gonna talk, you
know.

- We weren't dogging.

No,
of course you weren't, mate.

Anyway, mind how you go, lads.

- Cheers, Jim.

- We weren't.

- Didn't say you were.

- Now, you've really got to try

and get your temper
under control, Dad.

- Nothing wrong with my temper.

Hey! Watch where you're going,

you prick!
- You're the prick.

- Oh, yeah, that's good coming
from a man dressed like a...

jelly baby.

That's not temper.

That's just being rude.

Come on, let's go home
and get started.

- On what?

- On the brew.

I'm not having that bastard
win another competition

and rub our noses in it.

- Cool, Dad.

- Look what I've found...

going through
your mother's things.

- What the hell is that?

- Granddad's brew stick.

- It's for stirring
the wort with.

It adds oxygen,

kick-starts
the fungal yeast cells,

enhancing the flavours.

- Dad, this is going to take
the beer to a whole new level.

- Sorry, have you two
gone mental?

We need to go to Pritchard,
beg him to drop the charges,

and pray that he'll
still buy this pub.

- We've got nothing to sell,
Jake.

We'll be lucky
if we leave this place

with the fixtures and fittings.

Now, look, we've got
enough money to tide us over

until the CAMRA tastings.

If that goes well,
we qualify for the finals,

then we could easily attract
some investment,

like Cal said.

- Dad, Cal's beer wasn't fit
for human consumption.

- Well, then we learn
from his mistakes

until we get it right.

Your grandfather always
used to say that beer

is 90% water
and 10% magic.

Ooooh! Abra-bloody-cadabra.

- Can't believe
it has come to this.

Saturday night, and we're
watching a drunk geriatric

walk aimlessly
around in circles.

- Standard night out with
Paxman.

- But why can't we just use
tap water like everyone else?

- Because great-granddad Ted
said it doesn't make sense

to brew a living beer
with dead water.

- Yeah.
- That's right.

I mean, the chemical
treatment process

kills off all the bad stuff,

but also zaps the minerals
and nutrients.

- Oh, me hands are twitchin'.

- It's 'cause you haven't
had a drink yet.

The rod does not lie.

Oh, there we go.

Yeah, this is where we dig.

Just here.

- All right, well,
if you can't beat them,

you might as well join them.

- Right there.

I think we're gonna need
something sturdier than that,

- don't you?
- Yeah.

Keep it coming, Harry.

That's the way.

Keep it coming.

Keep it coming.

That's the way.

Keep it coming, Harry.

Whoa there.

- What was that?

- I've got a good idea.

- You need a new stick, mate.

Well, if brains were taxed,

you lot would get a rebate!

You just cut
the bloody electrics.

- Oh, sorry.

We were looking
for the old spring.

- Oh, why didn't you say?

Mum's house's always been
on well water.

- Brewing basics.

- Do me a favour;

make sure you measure
that sugar properly this time.

My body can't handle
another five-day hangover.

- I don't get it.

Why are we going
to all the trouble

of finding pure spring water

filtered through
local limestone,

then you just go and dump a
load

of old imported processed sugar
in it?

- Well, the yeast have got
to feed off something.

- Could use Dad's honey.

- Actually,
that's a good idea.

That's what the monks used
to do with their mead.

- I mean, we'd have to ask
their permission.

- What, the monks?

- The bees.

Now, remember, these are
sensitive creatures, okay,

so if they get upset
or feel offended,

the hive will swarm and vanish.

So keep your distance.

And under no circumstances,
swear or blaspheme.

- That's half of
my vocabulary gone.

- Hi, queen bee.

- Hello, worker bees.

It's me Jake.

Now I'm here to ask permission
to use your precious honey

for our family ale.

Your gift to the world
is pollinating flowers,

ours is pollinating people.

- They're humming.

That's a good sign.

- Oh, good. Nice.

- Ow! Jesus Christ!

The bee just bit me!

- Please tell me
you did not just kill it.

- I hope I bloody did.

It bit me.

- Shit, there's one
on your shoulder.

- What?
- There's one on your shoulder.

- Just calm down.

Son of a bitch,
that bloody hurt!

- Can everyone
please stop swearing?

That's still swearing.

Well, since
when were bees bilingual?

- I can feel it.
Get it out of there.

It's on me.
- Okay. All right, calm down.

They're feeling your energy.

Motherfucker! Ah!

- Oh, bollocks.
- I'm covered in them.

- They're bloody swarming!

- Ah! Oh, my God!
- Run!

So it's a no
from the bees then?

- Nice amber hue.
- Yeah.

Mm.

Aroma ain't bad either.

Yeah I'm getting the, uh,
the earthiness... the citrus....

- What about the taste?

- Oh yeah.
That holds up nicely, that.

Yeah, the sweetness
of the honey is coming through,

the pear drop ester notes,

and... a little hint
of butterscotch.

Get your lips around that.

Uh, uh, uh, uh.

Oh, that's lovely, that is.

I'll tell you what.

That is a pint your granddad
would be proud of.

- Oh, shit. Abi.

Come on, you.

Let's go and see
if Miss Stockton

will let you back in school.

- That's very nice, that is.

I'm gonna have another
little drop of that.

- You fill her up, Dad.

- I've got some good news.

Now that you've
had your assessment,

they are going to let you
back to school.

- Awesome!

- But there are
some ground rules.

You have to take your meds,

okay?
- Yeah, yeah, yeah.

- And please, for me,

try to hand your homework
in on time.

- Yeah.
- Finished, okay?

You can't just stop
in the middle of a sentence.

You have to reach
a conclusion.

- Yeah, deal.

- And, Romy,
no cutting Matilda's hair.

I hear you put Romy
to work too.

- Yeah,
she's basically the boss now.

We're all just
working for her.

- Giving her something fun
to focus on has clearly helped.

- It's helped me too.

All of us, I think.

- I remember the first time
I walked in here.

- Yeah, a lot of firsts
happened in this place.

First gig.

First dance.

- First pint.
- First pint.

Grandad's solstice special.

- Mm. The longest day turned into
the longest night of my life.

- Oh, I remember.

One pint in and you asked me
to be your boyfriend.

- Hm. You asked me.

- No.
No, that was definitely you.

- Must have been
the beer talking.

- Must have been.
- Hm...

- Anyway, if you hadn't asked,
I would have done, so...

doesn't matter either way.

- Better get going.

I listened to your song.

It was beautiful.

Welcome
to the first Grand Summer Fete

and Campaign For Real Ale's
regional tastings.

We're here to sample beer
and boogie.

Nobody boogies better
than local legends Hell's Bells.

- Right, this is going on
TikTok.

- I love a man in uniform.

- You love anything with a
pulse.

- Let's hope their beer
is better than their dancing.

- Oh come on, Ed.
It's just a bit of fun.

- Fun will be seeing that thug
locked up in prison.

Could all local brewers

and real ale enthusiasts

please make their way
to the main tent

for CAMRA's Regional Tastings.

- Here they come.

- Oh, The Drovers!

Worst pub in Britain

- competing for the best beer.
- Yeah.

- You pride yourselves
as real ale enthusiasts.

Well, this is as real
as it gets.

Brewed on the
Drovers Arms premises,

using locally sourced
natural ingredients

and 100% homemade.

- Like the cottage pie?

- This one's not
from the freezer.

- This one's from the heart.

- So which of you is the brewer?

- It's a family affair.

And what's the beer called?

- Drovers.

- Well, let's hope the taste
is more inspired than the name.

- They look well
out of their depth.

- Uh, the Harleys
would be out of their depth

in a drip tray.

- Thank you.

We wish you the best of luck.

- All right.

- Nice, this one.

- Afternoon, ladies.

What's passed your lips today?

- That's a bit forward, Wilf.

- I've told you, Dawn,
I'm not interested.

It's your mum I'm after.

Well...

- You should try the
Drovers' new brew.

Slips down like
a homesick mole.

Good afternoon,
ladies and gentlemen.

We have sipped,
sucked and savoured

some absolutely
barnstorming beers today.

- So let's hop to it
and get to the first category,

Best Bitter.

Representing the Southwest
in the national final

for the third year running
with their latest offering,

Hoppy-Go-Lucky,

is our local legends,
Pritchard's Brewery.

- And representing the Southwest
in the Special Bitter Category,

it is Hoptamystic.

- Moving on now
to the category of Mild,

but by no means meek...

- Representing the Southwest
in this year's national final

at their first attempt--

I can't quite believe
I'm saying this

but credit where credit's due--

brewed right here
in this very village

from the Drovers Arms Brewery,
it is Drovers!

- Go on, Mick!

- Oh, my God!

- We look forward to seeing
all the winners

at the national final
in London.

- Oi, look.

- Congratulations.
- Thank you.

- Hey, Edward.

I guess we see you
in the Big Smoke.

- I'll see you in the back
of a prison van more like.

Are you hoping
to join your father?

Maybe you could get
a family room.

- Ed, that's enough.

- I don't know why you're
defending the competition.

- They're not competition.

You're all in
different categories.

You're all winners.

- I'm getting a bit sick
of this.

- Sorry.

- Paxman?

- Yeah?

- Can you help me
with my homework, please?

- Thought you'd been sacked
from school.

- No, they let me back in.

- What's the question?

- Well we're working
on Romeo and Juliet.

Love or hate?

Which is stronger?

- Hmm... Family feud
versus young love.

- How young?

- Well, Juliet was 13.

- Do you not think
she's a bit young

for all that love stuff?

- Yeah.

First you're too young,
next thing you know,

you're too bloody old.

When the time comes, Romy,
don't fanny about.

That's my advice.

- We should get going, Dad.
- Yeah, I know.

Just getting in a bit of
a pickle with this here.

Your mum used to do my tie.

I get this far, and then
it all goes reels of cotton.

- Okay.

Let's have a go.

- You still love Abi,
don't you?

- I never stopped, Dad.

I'm not good enough for her.

- Of course, you are.

I know you've been to hell
and back, mate,

but you're a better man for it.

Look what you've done there.

I look like a bloody teddy boy.

- You look great.
Come on.

- Will the accused please stand?

Michael Harley, you've been
found guilty of assault,

occasioning actual bodily harm.

We have taken into account
your early guilty plea.

It is acknowledged
by the court.

Sadly, the level
of violent intent you showed

cannot be ignored.

I therefore sentence you
to six months in prison...

suspended for two years.

How old were you
when you first met Nana?

I was 25.

Cost me eight quid to get
into Glastonbury that year.

That was the best money
I ever spent.

Van Morrison
was top of the bill.

But the real headline act
was your grandmother.

On the way back,
me and a few mates,

we stopped off here
to watch the sunrise.

But I saw something
much more beautiful.

Your Nana, my Sarah,
she was right there,

singing and dancing
with a bunch of her friends.

After a while, we got talking.

We didn't stop for 40 years.

Look at that view though.

That doesn't change.

Looks like time stood still.

It's just a shame
that life couldn't, isn't it?

Can you hold that, love?

- Love you, Mum.

- You fly free, my songbird.

Mum, not everyone
in this village

is having an affair.

- Oh, there's more to it
than meets the eye.

- How about that Mary?
- Harry?

- Goes to church.
- Churchgoer? Less church,

- more goer, if you ask me.
- Harry!

Look at those finger bouquets

she provides for the cricket.

- Why is the barrel hatch open?

- What?

- Oh.
- No, no, no, no.

Bastards.

- Here. Drink some water.

- No, scotch.

- Really?
- Yeah, scotch.

It's all destroyed.

Mash tun, fermenter.

Done the lot.

- The brew?

- Dregs.

- Grandpa!

- Dad? Dad! Hey!

- Hey, hey, hey!

- Jake, call an ambulance.

- They'll take too long.

Grandpa.

- It's all right, Roms.
Roms?

- I need an access code
for a DFIB machine, please.

Zero, six.

Romy, sweetheart,

I need you to get back
from it, okay?

We've got an ambulance
on the way, okay?

Everything will be okay,
I promise you.

Just to let you know,

the surgeon's doing an
emergency coronary angioplasty

to improve the blood supply
to his heart.

If his condition stabilizes,
she'll insert a stent.

- If?

- He's receiving
the best medical care.

I'll keep you informed
of any developments.

Thank you.

- Hello?

- Hey, Cal. It's Dawn.

Uh, Dawn Higgins.
- Hey.

- Look, it's probably nothing
but, uh,

I saw Harry coming out
the back of the Drovers earlier,

and I just--
he looked well shifty.

- What?

- I just thought
you should know.

Oh--

- Cal?

Cal!

- If my dad dies,
you've got blood on your hands.

- Don't know what
you're talking about, mate.

- Whoa, whoa, whoa!

- Get out of it, Wilf!
- All right.

- When he saw the cellar
had been vandalised,

he had a heart attack.

That beer was all we had.

And now he's fighting
for his life,

lying on an operating table.

- I--I'm sorry, Cal.

But what's this got
to do with me?

- Don't!

Someone saw you, Harry,

sneaking out the back
of the pub.

- Is that true?

- Why?

You can't still be jealous.

Tell me why

I shouldn't press charges.
- Cal--

- Tell me why I shouldn't
destroy your life

like you destroyed ours.

- Cal, I've got a family--
- Tell me, Harry!

- Pritchard paid me.

He's drunk.

He doesn't know
what he's talking about.

- You lying prick.

- Tread very carefully, Harry.

I had nothing to do with this.

I give you my word.

- See, the thing is,

we all know
what your word is worth.

And while a lot of things
have changed round here

whilst I've been gone, you...

you're just the same lying,

cheating little rat
you have always been.

- Abi, I had nothing to do--
- Don't.

- Cal!
- Come on.

- Talk to me.

Just let me take you.

- I was just starting
to get to know him again.

Why do we always leave things
until it's too late?

- It's not.

Jake.

- I'm pleased to say
your father's operation

was a success.

We're now going to move him
down to the critical care ward.

- Thank you.

This song brings back
a lot of memories.

- Hey.
- Hey.

Which one you looking at?

- I remember that night.

Like it was yesterday.

God, I was so nervous.

- I was a sucker
for a guy with a guitar.

- Probably shouldn't have
sold mine then.

- We look so young.

We look happy.

- We were.

I've wasted so much time.

I don't want to waste any more.

Morning.

- Morning.

- Uncle Cal, do you know...

Oh. Hello, miss.

- Hi, Romy.

- We're so in trouble.

- Um, I'll leave this just here.

It's my homework.

On time.

It's love, by the way.

Not hate.

- What is?

- Romeo and Juliet.

Oh, don't fanny about.

That's the conclusion.

- Yeah...

Uh-huh...

All right.

Okay, thank you.

- What'd they say?

- It doesn't matter that
we've qualified for the finals.

They're not going to give us
a business loan

for a new microbrewery.

- What about a
crowdfunding page?

People raise thousands that
way.

- We don't have enough time,
miss.

- Yeah.

We need to start brewing
by the end of the week

to even have a chance of having
a beer ready on time.

Forget about the competition.

It's over.

We've run out of road.

The pub's not sustainable.

All right, let's do this!

Gather round.

God gave us two hands.

One to help ourselves.

The second to help others.

- And we're here to help.

- I'm truly sorry
for what I did.

I want to help put things
right.

So, we've had a chat,

and the village would like
to buy you a new brewing kit.

Pritchard was trying
to persuade us to invest

in a racehorse syndicate.

- But we'd rather invest
close to home.

- There's six thousand
five hundred

and four pounds there.

- I don't know what to say.

This is... this is so generous.

Thank you. All of you.

But um, you see
to get a brewing kit

that's capable of producing
the volume that we need...

you're looking at 15 grand.

- Fifteen?

I'll make up the rest.

Pointless it gathering dust
under me mattress.

- Paxman,
that's almost nine grand.

- Eight thousand four hundred
and ninety six to be exact.

- Why would you do that?

- I'm barred from every pub
from Minehead to Mendip.

Where else am I gonna get
a bloody pint?

Right, that's right.

- Hey, Grandpa.

- Hello, sweetheart.

- How are you feeling?

- Much better.
Ready to come home.

What the bloody hell
have you come as?

Am I back on the morphine?

- We needed a compelling
marketing story for the beer

that resonates
with our family history.

- What,
that we're all barking mad?

- That we're descendants
of drovers.

- Dad, every successful brand
has a story,

and ours goes back
two hundred years.

- So we're going to take
the traditional route to market

and show those CAMRA judges
what we're all about.

- Your mother would be
so proud of you two

coming together like this.

- That's it.

That's what we should rename
the beer to.

I feel like
a medieval Uber driver.

This outfit suits you,
you know?

We look like extras
from Poldark.

Are we going to have
to pay congestion charge?

- I don't know what the law is,

but I don't think
we can ride in the dark.

I feel like we should
have left a bit earlier.

Yeah, we didn't really
think this through, did we?

- I hope these horses
have got night vision,

'cause I can't see
a bloody thing.

This must have been
what it was like

for our ancestors,
hundreds of years ago.

- Do you ever wish
you were born back then?

Sometimes I think
the simpler life

would have suited me better.

- Now you're forgetting the...
the work houses,

debtors prisons...

public hangings...

potato famine.

- Apart from them.

- The clap, that was rife...

- Fuck's sake!

- Cholera.

Even a glass of water
could have killed you.

- They would have thrown me
into Bedlam

before you could say happy
pill.

- You know I probably
still would have ended up

married to a lunatic.

- Sorry about all that, man.

- I can see
how she could leave me.

I can't understand
how she could leave Romy.

- You're a great dad.

- Yeah, she's just pleased
her Uncle Cal is here.

We all are.

- Love you, too.
- I didn't say that.

- Well, Drovers seem
to be making quite a stir

with the real ale community.

What's up, Instagram?

Here we are in the Big Smoke.

- What the hell
are they thinking?

They're saying
they're following

a traditional route to market.

Yeah. They're getting loads
of likes.

Oh, comments and shares.

- It's a Real Ale Awards,
not a fancy dress competition.

- Just keep the beer flowing.

- Did you just like that?

- Not me.
Me finger slipped.

- Afternoon.

- Hi.
- Drovers Arms, tag us!

Mm.

- Ah, God, this looks good.
Where's the bar?

- Good afternoon.

Welcome to the 35th Great
British CAMRA Real Ale Awards.

Today for the first time ever,

two rival pubs
from Birchbury, Somerset.

The Drovers Arms
and the George Inn

will be competing against
each other to be crowned

Champion Beer
of Britain Award winner.

Well, in a small village
like yours,

I imagine rivalries run deep.

Is this something
of a grudge match?

- One that goes all the way back

to the Pitchfork Rebellion
of 1685.

- Uh, yeah.
Edward Pritchard's ancestors

were loyal to the crown,
but peasants like us

said bollocks
to the bluebloods.

- Yeah, and give it
to the posh knobheads.

- Yeah, yeah, and that's exactly

what we're going
to do again today.

- Yeah!

- Who are ya?!

Who are ya?! Who are ya?!

Who are ya?!

Who are ya?! Who are ya?!
Who are ya?!

- Obviously this competition
means an awful lot

to the good people
of Somerset.

Back to you in the studio.

- It's not just a competition.

Beer has played a crucial
and underrated role

in the propagation
of our species.

- In what way, Paxman?

- By helping ugly people
have sex since 32 BC.

This thing go a little faster?

Oh, all right, you're
a bit close, mate.

- Where the hell are they?

They were meant to be here
an hour ago.

- You got maps on your phone?

I don't know
where we're going.

It's like a wardrobe
on wheels.

Sorry, sorry, cheers, sorry.
- Thank you.

Sorry.

- Come on, come on!

- How long we got?

- Uh, 20 minutes.

This is your final call--

- No.
Keeps going to voicemail.

They haven't posted
for ages either.

- When they fail to win anything
and the pub gets repossessed,

I'm going to buy it at auction
and just leave it empty.

- Why would you do that?

- So when those turncoats
get thirsty

and come knocking at my door,

I can tell them all
with great pleasure

they're barred.

- Looking for signs for Olympia.

The horses know we're lost.

- Yeah we've gone the wrong way.

- There's still no sign of them,
eh?

- No I checked the car park.

- Of course, you did.

- They better hurry up.

Judges are going
to start tasting soon.

- That is like a hug in a glass.

That is rich.

It has caramel notes.

It's really, um, arousing.

- Yeah, that's what it is.

- Sign. Olympia. There it is.

There, there, there.
- I see there.

- Excitement is mounting
as we wait

for the results of the Champion
British Beer of the year.

I have alongside me
the two-time

Supreme Beer of Britain winner,

Edward Pritchard
of Pritchard's Brewery.

Do you think you can be
the first brewer

to win the triple crown?

- Let's just say I'm looking
forward to making history.

- Excuse me;
you can't park a vehicle here.

- Well, that's not
a vehicle, mate.

It's a horse.

- That is a
master class in balance.

The bitterness, the sweetness.

It's like walking a tightrope.

There's a sense of danger.
- Yes, yes, yes.

But there's also a sense
of safety in there, too.

Like, if I fell,

I know there's
a bunch of firemen

waiting to catch me
with their big trampoline.

- My thoughts exactly.

A massive trampoline.

Massive firemen.
- Massive firemen.

Sorry.

- Drovers Arms.
You're late.

What held you up?

Highwaymen?

- No, we got lost.

Okay, we got really lost

and then we woke up
late this morning

and the horses
needed water and...

just a little bit nervous.

Do you mind if I just...

Oh, that's really nice, that
is.

- Shut up.

- Technically, you--

- Technically,
you're disqualified.

If we bend the rules for you,

we have to bend them
for everyone else.

- Um, we know that your time
is precious,

but know we've--we've come
a long way both emotionally

and geographically
to brew this for you.

And yeah, we might
have fallen a bit flat,

but this beer hasn't.

It's good.

It's really bloody good.

- He may be dressed
like a pauper,

but are you ready
to live like one?

- Cal may not be a millionaire,

but at least
he's not morally bankrupt.

Prat.

- Mmm, that is disappointing,
Jeremy.

- It's too immature.

- I don't think it knows
what it is yet.

- Yeah, at the same time,
it's too much.

- Mm.
- I like jam.

I don't want to be chased
by wasps.

- Exactly.
It's--it's, um...

It's...

- Shite.
- That's what it is.

It's officially shite.

Could all competitors

please go to the awards area.

The prize ceremony
is about to commence.

- Good afternoon, everyone.

We are gathered today
to acknowledge the very best

in the British brewing world.

- Yes, those wizards of the
wort,

the malt magicians
who turn water into wonderment

and hops into happiness!

- Yay!

- So without further ado,

this year's Champion Beer
of Britain winners are...

In the Golden category,

Pint of No Return,
Ironwood Ales.

- In the Bitter category,
Best Bitter...

Hoppy-Go-Lucky,

Pritchard's Brewery.
- Yay!

- Come on. Yes!

- Smug git.

- Thank you.

- Strong Bitter, Village Idiot,
Barley There Brewery.

Speciality,
Hopmen of the Apocalypse,

Bingham's Brewery.

Stouts--Malt Fiction,
Grumpy Geezer Ales!

- And in the Mild category...

- Mother's Pride,

The Drovers Arms Brewery!

- Yes, get in!

- We couldn't have done this
without you, mate.

Oh, well done.

Well done, my darling.

- Chuffed!

- Well, congratulations
to all our winners

and heartfelt sympathies
to all our losers.

But there can only be one
supreme champion today.

Our judges were unanimous
in their voting.

Everyone agreed
that the appearance,

the aroma and the flavour
of this beer were truly unique.

- So it is with
great satisfaction

to award this year's

Supreme Champion Beer
of Britain Award...

to The Drovers Arms,

for their mild ale,
Mother's Pride.

- That's amazing.

- Well, that was light work.

- Um, first of all,

we need to thank
the Drovers Army.

- We love you.

- You guys, you...
you know what you did

and it won't be forgotten.

Secondly, every art form
needs a source of inspiration

and brewing is no different.

- Mother's Pride
is bold, authentic,

daring and full of heart.

Our mum was all of those things

and that is why
we're dedicating this

and our beer to her.

- We're just sorry
that she couldn't be here

to sink a pint with us today.

Thank you.
- Thanks.

- There is no conspiracy,
Edward.

The fact is, Hoppy-Go-Lucky

was not as good
as your previous offerings.

- Maybe you should focus
on making beer

rather than making history.

- You're going to regret this.

- Not as much as you.

You are barred
from these awards.

- Oh please, Pritchard's Brewery
is the awards.

Come on, let's go.

- Oh, sod off, you twat,
and go and brew some cider.

- Everyone,
this is David Schumer.

- Congratulations.

- He's a leading
craft beer investor.

- I can see you're talented
and passionate about brewing.

You've done a great job
on social media

building your brand.

My expertise is financial.

I run profitable
and successful breweries

and I'd like to do that with
you.

- So how much you offering?

It will be
a considerable investment

to reach a much wider
consumer base.

- I mean that sounds great,

but, um, well,
this is a community beer.

- Mm-hmm.
- Brewed in the village.

- Owned by the village.

- So we have to run it past
our partners first.

- Sure.
When--when can I meet them?

- Uh, well, how about now?

- Cheers!

- Whoo!

- Let me hear you say!

- Thank you!

- Hey! Bloody motorists!

I'm trying to
save the planet!

Oh, shit.