Castlemaine XXXX – probably the worst lager in the world – has been withdrawn from sale in the UK.

It was very popular in the 80s when Australian lager seemed exotic. The adverts were brilliant.

But why anyone ever asked for a second pint was beyond me.

It was bland, weak chemical tasting crap sold purely on the basis of its adverts. The joke was that the XXXX stood for piss.

Unlike Skol, XXXX won’t be missed. Let’s hope Fosters bites the dust, too.

For now, re-live the great original advert.

Stella owners InBev have dropped the Peeterman Artois and Eiken Artois brands, signalling an end to their attempt to rebrand Stella as a cool European drink.

The Publican has the first story here. I suppose the’ll concentrate on Stella 4%, which has been selling for £3 for a 4 pack even in the likes of Threashers.

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Top-dog blogger Tandleman has posted about an important victory for drinkers after a do-gooder group in London tried to get super-strength lager banned. Click here to read on.

Stella Artois has re-launched itself by dropping its ABV from 5.2% to 4%. Story here.  It’s the last throw of the dice for a brew that has become uncool.

Remember the days when Stella  was reassuringly expensive and exceedingly fashionable?

Stella Artois’ wife-beating hoodoo shows no signs of disappearing and despite fancy rebranding and new products – like the pointless Vier – makers InBev are looking to the future. According to this Telegraph story, they plan to break the bank to buy out America’s Budweiser.

Seems quite a smart move, Bud’s sales and image remains pretty robust despite being a so-so lager - but do we really want these mega, mega companies like InBev/Bud and Carlsberg/Heineken using their global muscle to ensure future generations drink nothing but journeyman beer?

To the St Teresa of Avila (my patron saint) social club in Birkdale yesterday and a free bar and buffet to celebrate the First Holy Communion of my wonderful nephew.

When there’s no cask beer, I normally make for the Bloody Mary’s, but as this was a kiddies party, getting hammered wouldn’t have gone down well, so Tetley dark mild was given a go.

This is a beer I love on cask, but it disappointed badly on keg. First of all, it comes out ice cold, with all the subtle flavours bashed into a box under the stairs. What you’re left with is something a bit like a weak Guinness but without the redeeming creamy mouthfeel and full-bodied middle.

Wondering what sort of person drinks this night after night, I decided to delve deeper into sin, getting crack-house-whore dirty and ordering a Carlsberg Extra Cold.

The beer has no flavour other than a dry and chemical hit of alcohol. It’s ice cold and gassy and leaves a ‘chips and scampi’ aftertaste. It’s terrible, feckin terrible, not even as good as a can of barbecue lager.

Yet, why is there a moreish quality?

Is it the alcohol-kick? The lab-rat mucking around that leaves you thirsty after finishing a pint? The secret addition of cocaine in the brewing process?

There was a time when pub opinion had it that if you could only educate people about the joys of real ale then we’d see off the lager filth for good.

But as I made inroads into a second pint, the people told me Carlsberg extra cold is a “great pint”, with a “beer is beer and does what beer does” attitude.

These people don’t want Sheep Lifter ale or Old Cawliflower Hen, as they see the real ale choice, they want adult Coca Cola, cold, fizzy, dry with an instant alcohol cock-slap to the chops.

Real ale missionaries have really got their work cut out.

In yet another cynical, empty gesture, big store off-licences in London have banned the sale of superstrength lagers like Carlsberg Special Brew.

Big Smoke tramps, who are usually unwelcome at stores like Tesco and Waitrose anyway, are now weighing up their options. Should they emulate their American cousins and take up sweet wine, join their Russian comrades in turning to vodka, or go Greek with Ouzo?

My advice is to plum for the new premixed Caipirinhas, the Brazilian “peasant’s drink” appearing in our stores. They may not be as good as the genuine article but have a good alcoholic kick (14.9%abv) and pleasing tropical flavour.

Update: 50 MPs sign petition for extra tax on super strength lager, including Formby MP Claire Curtis Thomas

Cains do an excellent lager, especially on draft. There’s a cask and a keg version available, both of which are stored or ’lagered’ for three months and is, not probably but definitely, the best British lager that there is.

Also worth checking out is Cains’ 8% Continental style Bock Lager brewed under Reinheitsgebot purity laws with authentic Munich Malt and complemented with Saaz and Hallertau hop.

Cains are reporting good sales in these troubling times and are also celebrating the launch of what they claim to be Britain’s first one-pint can. 

We’ll have to take their word for it, although I’m sure I can remember one-pint cans of Kestrel or some such lager in the late 80s.

Although frowned upon by purists, the humble can of beer, cold from the fridge is often a lifesaver. 

The first cans of beer were produced just over 60 years ago. You can read all about their history by clicking on this fascinating web site. 

Music was my first love. No, I tell a lie, it was Skol.

The foaming lager was everywhere in the 70s and 80s, but over the years retreated from the limelight to lurk in the bargain sections of supermarket drink aisles and the dusty, refrigerated shelves of pubs preserved in amber.

When I think of it now, it is forever summer. I am a young man, sneaking away from the nuns at Maricourt, removing my giveaway school tie and creeping into the Red House pub (careful to check that no teachers were refreshing themselves there).

My friends and I used to do this once a week to prove just how grown up we were. At first I adulterated my halves with a shot of lime then, after a sneer from a local churchman, switched to pints and did away with the mixer.

At some moment in the weeks that followed, in the hushed public bar, with sunlight streaming through the bevelled windows, I took a sip from my glass and fell into a state of perfect happiness.

I have spent the rest of my drinking life, trying to recapture that moment.

Shortly after, I stopped drinking Skol, being seduced by the charms of the Red House’s Tetley Cask and taking the first steps along the road to becoming a beer bore.

In search of lost time, I’ve tried as many beers as I can, in many nations.

I’ve gone through stages of drinking nothing but fine wines, sophisticated cocktails, outrageous rotgut, head-splitting ciders, stout ales and cultured single malts.

I have had many beautiful moments in my life, but in terms of drinking, none have matched that sweet day of youth.

In the early 90s, Skol’s star was finally extinguished, becoming the butt of jokes before being supplanted in the nation’s affections by journeyman lagers from Denmark and Australia.

I’ve not seen sight of it in a pub for years, so it was with a sense of hope I spied a bottle of Skol nestling unloved in the fridge of the Cheshire Lines pub in Southport’s King Street, where I’d nipped in for a sharpener before attending an ambassador’s reception nearby.

Trying the brew, I am happy to report that it is better than you’d imagine, having a clean, crisp taste with flowery undertones. It was a nostalgic treat, like enjoying a coffee with an old lover, sharing memories but planning no future.

Later on, at the ambassador’s reception, I was, coincidentally, handed a can of Skol Super Strong, a brew that is true to the tune of 9.2%abv.

Not only was this a foul affront to the taste buds, two cans of the stuff would have you as tight as an owl.

As the Ferrero Rocher was passed round, I slipped my can behind a flower pot, where it probably remains, along with the sweet vanished past.