Beer, berks and bruises: A trip to the Cascade Brewery


Waking up with an immense hangover after another night of drinking meant there was only one option for the day – a tour of the Cascade Brewery, in South Hobart, for some hair of the dog. After stopping off in the centre of town so Ben could grab himself another Dagwood Dog, we wandered through the cold and the wet towards our destination.

Despite the miserable weather, the walk wasn’t miserable at all. Hobart retains much of its beauty in even the poorest of conditions, and the stroll to the brewery is truly lovely. The Hobart Rivulet Track meanders along a creek for around 3km, passing historic buildings and delightful parks. It was very pleasant, even if I did feel a bit like passing out in a bin.

What a handsome creek

The walk took me past something called the Female Factory, so I strolled in and asked them to make me a blonde one with big tits. The old lady behind the desk didn’t think it was funny at all.

The Cascade Brewery is a grand old building that rises from the surrounding greenery like a giant tombstone. We were looking forward to taking a tour, but when we got inside we found out it was booked out for the day. The receptionist said she’d see if the tour leader could fit two more in his group, but he seemed appalled by the idea.

“That simply won’t do,” he sniffed. “I pride myself on delivering a more intimate, personalised experienced, and greater numbers simply won’t allow that to happen.”

This is what it looks like from the outside. I’m not one of the privileged few allowed to see the inside

What a knob. Instead of touring the brewery, we took a walk around the grounds (really pretty) and drank some beer (really good, but after last night, it was like drinking petrol). After a while the tour group returned, and they didn’t look nearly as happy as I thought they would. No jumping high-fives or anything. As one bloke passed me, he whispered, “The tour guide is the BIGGEST IDIOT I’ve ever met, he knows nothing about beer and he’s told the same joke THREE times.”

“Okay, team,” the guide said, and his ‘teammates’ groaned. It’s time for you to taste some of the scrumptious beverages produced by Cascade. I have this first one when I’m feeling a bit cheeky on a Friday afternoon. It’s 6.3 per cent alcohol, so you know why we leave the tastings until after the tour!” Crickets.

“Kill me,” said the loudmouth I’d talked to earlier.

Really enjoying my schooner of Cascade

“And these beers aren’t available on the mainland,” smirked the guide, “but don’t worry, you won’t be arrested if you take them back with you!”

“Mate, you need to spend less time making stupid jokes and more time shutting the fuck up,” snarled the loudmouth. After a short scuffle that me and Ben were forced to break up, the loudmouth was thrown into the street, and as a thank you I was allowed to drink the three tasting beers he was given as part of his tour.

From there we headed back to Hobart, where we checked out the Hobart Cenotaph, which was pretty sweet, and an abandoned zoo, which was just kinda there. We then headed to the Botanical Gardens, which were closed. We just weren’t having any luck at all.

“I’ve got something MONUMENTAL to show you. It’s in my pants!”

Ben headed straight back to the house, while I decided to quickly explore a cricket ground at the top of town. It was really pretty and I really enjoyed the view it gave, but when I went to leave I realised that someone had locked the gate. I was locked in and, to make it worse, a psychotic plover started divebombing me! With no other option, I climbed up the three-metre fence, somehow cleared the barbed wire on the top, and managed to land on the other side without breaking my leg. As I walked off, I realised there was an unlocked door about 10 metres away.

Why can I never get locked in somewhere nice, like a brothel?

For dinner, we went to Mexican, but it was closed. It really, really, really really hasn’t been my day.

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