My Big DuckDuckGo Question

It was one of those boring meetings where your body is technically in the room, but your brain has already gone wandering. This happens to me A LOT.

I had my phone in my hand and, for no useful reason at all, wondered what the traffic on my digital garden looked like over the past week. I haven't posted in a while, so curiosity got the better of me.

What struck me most was the amount of traffic coming from DuckDuckGo.

According to Umami, I had 324 visitors in the past 7 days, and 37 of them had arrived from DuckDuckGo. That was around 11% of my traffic, which genuinely surprised me as I only had 1 visitor from Google. I knew people used DuckDuckGo, of course, but I didn't realise it was sending that much traffic my way.

Then I started wondering about the people, and therefore the reason, behind those numbers.

Are DuckDuckGo users the indie, slightly boho searchers of the internet? The people who still bookmark odd little websites, read personal blogs, avoid the algorithmic sludge, and prefer the quieter corners of the web?

For a brief moment, I really liked that idea, I often think of myself in those ways, so it felt like I was talking to my people.

A digital garden isn’t really a standard corporate website. It isn’t a polished marketing blog either. It’s a scruffier thing than that, well mine is anyway. A personal corner of the web. Half notebook, half archive, half “I’ll come back and tidy this later”, which admittedly is three halves, but that sum feels about right for my digital garden.

And maybe the people who seek out these spaces are also the kind of people who choose alternative search engines. People who are a bit more intentional about their digital footprint. People who don’t just default to Google because it’s there. People who are still curious enough to look beyond the usual platforms.

That was my first theory ... then, with curiosity still surging inside of me, 10 minutes later I dug a bit deeper into the stats and slightly ruined my own romantic idea.

It turns out that around 92% of the DuckDuckGo traffic was landing on one page: my Pinter brewing times page.

Out of curiosity, I searched for “pinter brewing times” myself. On DuckDuckGo, my page was showing in positions 3 and 6. On Bing, it was also sitting around position 3. On Google, it was nowhere to be seen.

That made the whole thing even more interesting.

Most of the other results on DuckDuckGo and Bing were from the official Pinter site. So my scruffy little garden page, written from actual batches and real experience, was sitting among the official results as one of the few non-brand answers to the question.

Someone searching for “Pinter brewing times” probably doesn’t just want the official answer. They can get that easily enough. What they really want is the unofficial answer. The lived-in answer. The “I’ve brewed this myself and here’s what actually worked” answer.

That’s where personal websites like mine still have a place, they can answer the awkward little questions brands don’t always answer properly. They can add the human bit. The experiment. The note in the margin. The small practical detail that only appears once someone has actually used the thing in their own kitchen.

Because someone searching for real Pinter brewing times probably isn’t just drifting around the indie web looking for quirky little blogs. They probably already own a Pinter. They probably have a brew fermenting somewhere in the house. They probably want to know whether the official brewing times are enough, whether other people are leaving it longer, and whether their beer is about to turn into something drinkable or something they’ll quietly pour down the sink.

In other words, they’re not browsing. They’re trying to solve a problem.

And that might explain the DuckDuckGo thing better than my original “boho indie web” theory.

If you’re searching for something like Pinter brewing times, Google can feel a bit noisy. You get adverts, shopping results, official pages, old forum posts, and content that may or may not have been written by someone who has ever actually brewed the thing. But a person searching on DuckDuckGo might be looking for something a bit more direct. Less polished. Less commercial. More “has a real person tried this, and what happened?”

That’s exactly what my Pinter page is.

It isn’t a sales page. It isn’t a polished guide written to shift units. It’s just me, my own batches, my own brewing times, and my own attempts to work out what makes the beer better.

There may also be a crossover between the kind of person who homebrews with a Pinter and the kind of person who uses DuckDuckGo. Gadget-loving hobbyists. Tech-minded professionals. DIY types. People who like tinkering with things at home and finding their own way through a problem rather than simply accepting the official version.

Which, now I think about it, is basically me.

I like gadgets. I like brewing beer at home. I like fiddling with things until they work better. I also decided to build my digital garden on Blogger, which is not exactly the obvious choice in 2026, so perhaps I’m not in the strongest position to accuse anyone else of avoiding the conventional route.

There’s a search engine quirk in there too. DuckDuckGo has its own crawler and uses a number of sources, but its regular web results are largely sourced from Bing. When I looked a little closer at my Umami dashboard, Bing was performing fairly well too, with around 6.5% of all traffic.

So perhaps my little garden, or at least that Pinter page, has found a comfortable home in that particular part of the search world, while Google continues to stand outside, peering through the hedge, deciding whether anything here is worth indexing properly.

I quite like that. For me, Google can keep looking and wondering.

The DuckDuckGo traffic doesn’t necessarily mean my garden is being discovered by wandering citizens of the indie web. Not entirely, anyway. It might simply mean that practical people, searching with slightly different tools, are finding a practical page that gives them something useful.

And honestly, that might be better, because the more I think about it, the more a digital garden should work like that. It shouldn’t just be a place for grand thoughts and half-finished essays. It should also be a place where one oddly specific note, written from real experience, helps someone else at exactly the right moment.

Maybe that’s the real point here ... not that DuckDuckGo users are all indie web romantics. Not that my garden has suddenly become a destination for privacy-conscious digital wanderers. But that a page about brewing times, written by someone who has actually brewed the beer, can still cut through.

Even if it does so via DuckDuckGo and not Google!

And honestly, I’ll take that any day for my tiny little digital garden.

What Will Happen To My Garden

I was just wondering what will happen to my garden when I am no longer here.

I dare say that, initially, no one will give two hoots. Life moves on, people are busy, and I’m not sure anyone will be rushing to read through years of my ramblings the moment I’m gone.

But as the years go by, I do wonder whether my children, or even my grandchildren, or great grand children, might become interested in some of the drivel I’ve written here. Not because it is especially important, or beautifully crafted, but because it is mine. It is a little record of how I thought, what I noticed, what made me laugh, what wound me up, and what mattered to me at different points in my life.

I’d hate for it all to simply disappear and never see the light of day again.

Speaking (or perhaps more accurately typing) out loud, I wonder if I could develop some sort of PANIC button that instantly converts all the posts to PDFs and saves them somewhere else. I’m sure there will be a more subtle solution than that, and I probably need to find it, but the thought has definitely lodged itself in my head.

All my normal social media stuff can rot, for all I care. Most of that is disposable by nature anyway. But this garden feels different. This is the bit I’d quite like to be around in some format, even if it is only tucked away somewhere for someone to stumble across years from now.

Nowt To Do With Me, Springs and Hinges

I said something to a work colleague today that took me straight back more than thirty years, and I thought I’d better get the story down before it disappears forever.

I started working for BT, or British Telecom, or British Telecommunications plc depending on how you remember it, back in the days before everything had been smoothed out by the internet. I was there until 1997, when I moved to GPT, (GEC Plessey Telecommunications). That’s a whole other story.

Back in the 80s and 90s, BT still had those old red telephone boxes dotted all over the place. They’re remembered now as lovely bits of British street furniture, very iconic back in the day, but anyone who actually used them will remember a slightly different reality.

They usually smelt of wee. You also felt like you might catch something just by standing in one for too long. And, if you did manage to survive the smell, you then had to battle your way back out through a door held shut by springs so strong you practically needed to be Geoff Capes to open it (anyone under 50 may need to look him up). It was just as difficult sometimes to open these things, and the silly little handles didn't really give you any purchase!

Every so often, our BT office in Leeds would get calls from customers complaining that people were struggling to open the phone box doors, and they wanted someone to do something about it.

One of the departments we had back then was Directories. They managed Directory Enquiries, where operators gave out telephone numbers, and Directory Production, which involved producing those enormous paper phone books that used to land on everyone’s doorstep. Pre-internet life must look almost prehistoric now.

Anyway, the chap who headed up the Directories team in Leeds used to get loads of these “phone box door” calls transferred through to him from the switchboard. I’ve no idea why, other than every phone box had a paper directory in it, so someone must have decided it was vaguely connected.

It wasn’t.

Every now and again, you’d hear him answer one of these calls with something along the lines of:

“Nowt to do with me. Springs and hinges.”

I may have paraphrased that slightly, but that was the gist of it.

The funny thing is, we actually had an engineering team that looked after the springs and hinges in phone boxes. That was a real thing. Somewhere inside BT, there were people whose job included making sure the doors on red telephone boxes opened and closed properly.

So now, every so often, when someone asks me something that has absolutely nothing to do with me, I still find myself saying, “Nowt to do with me. Springs and hinges.”, which I did this morning, and remembering this story brought a smile to my face.

No big reason for this story, really. But that’s what a digital garden is for, isn’t it? A little bit of history, a little bit of nonsense, and something small that made me chuckle today.

How I Learned to Love a Cheap Lidl Beer

When I first tried Steam Brew’s The Spark’s, I really didn’t like it.

The 7.8% ABV Imperial IPA had a harsh alcoholic edge that seemed to overpower everything else. I reviewed it in May 2025, scored it 6 out of 10 (and I think I may have overscored it a tad originally), and I expected that to be the end of it, and move on to the next beer.

But I found a week later I bought it again.

Part of that was the price. At around £1.49 for a 500ml can, it felt worth another try. It also helped that Lidl is our closest supermarket, so Lidl’s The Spark was always easy to pick up.

There were things I liked about it from the start. It had citrus, stone fruit, sweet malt and a gentle herbal bitterness. The problem was that the alcohol stood out too much.

Then, after a few more cans, something changed. The harshness didn’t bother me as much. The citrus seemed brighter, juicier, the sweetness made a little more sense, and the alcohol warmth started to feel like part of the beer rather than something fighting against it.

I don’t think the beer changed. More likely, my palate adjusted and I became more familiar with what it was trying to do.

My score eventually moved from 6 out of 10 to 7.5. It went from a beer I tolerated to one I regularly looked forward to drinking on a weekend.

There’s a wider lesson in all this for me. You shouldn’t force yourself to keep trying something you hate, but when there are a few positives hiding underneath that first reaction, it can be worth going back.

Tastes change. Palates adjust. Sometimes a beer you dislike at first can become one you genuinely enjoy; it's probably the same as things in life generally!

Representation Has Gone Too Far

I’m pissed off with the way TV programmes keep matching presenters and reporters to the subject they’re covering.

A story about disability apparently needs a disabled reporter. An interview with the Scottish football team at the 2026 World Cup apparently needs a Scottish presenter. It’s bloody ridiculous.

I’m not sure “positive discrimination” is quite the right term. It feels more like forced representation or identity matching. Either way, surely the best person for the job should be the person who gets it.

The Day I Built a Bomb

When I was about seven or eight years old, back in the mid-70s, kids had a lot more freedom than they do now. Most weekends involved disappearing for hours with your mates, getting filthy, climbing things you shouldn’t climb, and generally causing low-level chaos without adults knowing where you were.

I did once set light to somebody’s garden! But they had cut down their long grass and left it to dry out in Summer. What were they thinking! Looking back, it’s amazing any of us survived childhood intact. BTW, if you lived at 17 Crewe Avenue (Ferrybridge), in the 1970's, I apologise for my behaviour!

At the bottom of our road there was a row of old wooden garages, tucked between our school and the cemetery, with a field for horses on one side. One day we discovered that if you shifted some loose boarding around the back of one of them, you could squeeze inside. 

The garage looked abandoned to us ... honestly. There were car parts everywhere, old paint tins, bits of copper pipe, electrical cable, tools, and a couple of empty gas canisters. To a group of young lads, it looked like buried treasure.

So naturally, we decided to build a “bomb”.

Not a real one obviously. More the sort of ridiculous Heath Robinson contraption only children could invent. We threaded cables through car radiators, stuck pipes into paint tins, connected random bits of metal together, and made the whole thing look as dramatic as possible. 

We thought it was hilarious. None of us had the slightest idea how serious it might appear to somebody else, especially during a time when news about bombs and the troubles in Northern Ireland filled the television almost daily.

The next day, bomb disposal turned up.

I still remember the sinking feeling in my stomach when I saw them there. Even as a kid, I suddenly realised this wasn’t funny any more. We’d actually convinced grown adults that something dangerous had been hidden in that garage. 

Thankfully, after a few tense hours, they packed up and left without blowing anything sky high. Our masterpiece of wires, pipes, and scrap metal had been exactly what it really was ... a pile of junk arranged by bored children with too much imagination.

It still makes me laugh now, but there’s also a strange little lesson buried in it somewhere. Kids often don’t understand the world they’re growing up inside. We were pretending to build something from an adventure film, while the adults around us were seeing something entirely different.

The Building Blocks of Better SEO

A short, practical guide to the layers that help product pages rank better in Google.

I was recently asked to look at SEO for a couple of product ranges for our New Zealand business. Nothing unusual there. Product SEO is one of those jobs that sounds simple at first, then quickly turns into a pile of small, connected jobs.

You can’t just add a keyword to a title, write a quick paragraph, and expect Google to suddenly fall in love with the page. Sometimes that helps, but proper SEO is built in layers. Some layers have a bigger ranking impact than others, but they all support each other.

The image below is a simple way of thinking about it.

1. Helpful, high-quality content

This is usually the biggest piece. A product page needs to be useful to the person landing on it. That means clear product details, practical descriptions, specifications, FAQs, and anything that helps the buyer make a decision.

For construction and trade products, this might include sizes, materials, use cases, compatibility, pack quantities, safety information, installation notes, and the type of customer or job the product is best suited for.

Google’s own guidance talks about creating helpful, reliable, people-first content, rather than content written mainly to manipulate rankings. That’s a useful test for product pages. Would this page genuinely help a buyer, or is it just a thin page with a few search terms sprinkled in?

2. Authority and trust signals

Good content works better when the wider web gives Google reasons to trust the site. Relevant links, trade mentions, customer references, reviews, supplier relationships, and brand mentions can all help build confidence around a business.

For a B2B construction product range, this doesn’t have to mean chasing hundreds of random backlinks. A link or mention from a relevant merchant, trade customer, industry partner, buying group, case study, supplier page, or local business profile may be far more useful than a pile of weak directory links.

Google also says links help it discover pages and understand relevance, so internal and external linking still matter when they’re natural, crawlable, and useful. 

3. Site architecture and internal linking

Even strong product pages can struggle if they’re buried too deep or disconnected from the rest of the site.

A sensible structure helps both users and search engines understand what the business sells. Categories, subcategories, product ranges, and supporting guides should link together in a way that feels obvious.

For example, a temporary fencing page might naturally link to construction barriers, pedestrian barriers, road cones, safety signage, and relevant support articles. This isn’t just an SEO trick. It helps customers move around the site and find related products.

4. Keyword research and search intent

Keyword research isn’t about stuffing pages with phrases. It’s about understanding how customers search.

In the New Zealand market, people may use different language from UK customers. They may search by product name, use case, category, regulation, or problem. That matters. A page targeting “temporary fencing” may need different wording from one targeting “site fencing”, “construction fencing”, or “crowd control barriers”.

The aim is to map each page to the right search intent. Product pages should target buying or specification searches. Guides and FAQs can target research searches. Category pages can sit between the two.

5. Technical foundations

The technical side doesn’t always feel glamorous, but it can quietly hold everything else back.

Pages need to be crawlable, indexable, fast enough, mobile-friendly, secure, and easy for Google to understand. Titles, headings, meta descriptions, image alt text, clean URLs, canonical tags, redirects, and structured data all play their part.

Google’s Search Essentials highlight the need for crawlable links, indexable content, and words that people would use when searching for your content. In plain English: Google needs to access the page, understand the page, and see that it matches what people are looking for.

Supporting signals

There are also smaller supporting signals that can help strengthen the overall picture.

Social mentions probably won’t transform rankings on their own, but they can increase visibility and lead to trade mentions, customer links, and brand searches. Schema markup can help search engines understand page content. Image optimisation can bring traffic through image search and improve page performance. Analytics helps show what is working. Regular updates keep pages accurate and useful.

None of these should replace the bigger layers, but they’re worth doing properly.

A simple SEO process for product ranges

For a product range, I’d keep the process fairly straightforward:

1. Check whether the page can be crawled and indexed.
2. Review the current title, H1, headings, meta description, and URL.
3. Research how customers in that market actually search for the product.
4. Map one main keyword theme to each page.
5. Improve the product content so it answers real buyer questions.
6. Add useful internal links from related categories, products, and guides.
7. Look for genuine trade, supplier, customer, or partner mentions.
8. Add or improve images, alt text, FAQs, and schema where useful.
9. Track rankings, impressions, clicks, and enquiries over time.
10. Review and update the page when the product, market, or Google guidance changes.

The main point

SEO works best when all the layers are in place. A technically sound page with thin content won’t do much. A brilliant guide that nobody links to or can easily find may also struggle. A page packed with keywords but written for nobody in particular is unlikely to build trust.

For product SEO, the best starting point is still simple: make the page genuinely useful, make sure Google can understand it, and connect it properly to the rest of the site.

That won’t guarantee rankings overnight, but it gives the page a much better chance.

Healthy Dog Treats

We got fed up with only really having unhealthy treats in supermarkets to give Hela, our German Shepherd, so I went hunting for a healthy dog treat recipe that she’d actually enjoy.

And I think I found it.

These are really simple sweet potato dog biscuit recipe. They’re basically just two ingredients, with one optional extra if your pampered pooch fancies a bit more flavour (Hela did).

You’ll need:

• 240g wholemeal flour
• 225g sweet potato, cooked and pureed
• Optional extra: crispy bacon, blended into a powder

I cook the bacon until it’s nice and crispy, then blend it down into a powder before adding it to the mix. You don’t need loads, just enough to give the biscuits that little bacon smell dogs seem to detect from three rooms away. I suppose you could substitute for chicken, or perhaps even cheese or a little peanut butter (although you might have to add a little more flour).

Mix everything together. It’s easier while the sweet potato is still warm, as it helps bring the dough together, don't be afraid to get in with your hands to mix it.

Once mixed, let the dough rest for around 20 to 30 minutes. I’m not entirely sure what the resting actually does, but the biscuits do seem to come out better when the dough has had a bit of time to relax. Maybe biscuits need a breather too.

I then roll them into half golf ball size and squash down a little.

Preheat the oven to 180°C, then bake the biscuits for 20 to 25 minutes (fan oven).

Once they’re done, switch the oven off and leave the biscuits inside until they’ve cooled completely. You’re basically drying them out, which helps them store better and stops them going mouldy.

And that’s it. Simple, cheap, homemade dog treats that Hela absolutely adores, hope your pooch does too.

As with any homemade dog treat, feed in moderation and avoid adding salt, seasoning, onion, garlic, or anything else unsuitable for dogs.

From £5 to £1000: eBay Selling Experiment

This is going to be a fun little experiment.

I’ve spent many years working in marketing and ecommerce, and I’ve sold bits and pieces on eBay, Amazon, and Etsy before. Not recently though. It’s been a long, long time since I properly listed things, packed orders, watched prices, and tried to make a small margin.

So I’ve been wondering something.

From virtually a standing start, how easy would it be to make £1,000 on eBay, starting with as little as £5?

That’s the experiment.

The idea is simple enough. I buy something cheaply, sell it for more, then reinvest the money back into the next purchase. No big stock buy. No pretending this is a business empire. Just a small rolling pot, a few sensible buys, and a bit of patience.

There is one extra wrinkle, though. I’m not doing this with a brand new eBay account, but I’m not exactly starting with a fully active seller account either.

The account I’ll be using has been dormant since October 2021, so eBay is treating it cautiously and at the moment, I’m restricted to 18 items and no more than £190 in sales each month. In practical terms, that means I’m pretty much starting from scratch.

I’ve already slightly broken the £5 rule because I spent £6.50 in Tesco this morning on some hosepipe connectors. They feel like the sort of product that could work well on eBay: useful, small enough to post, not too fragile, and the kind of thing someone might search for when they need one rather than when they’re just browsing.

From previous experience, there are a few things worth remembering about eBay. It isn’t Amazon. The buyer mindset is different.

eBay buyers are often looking for value, something specific, something a bit unusual, or a replacement part they can’t easily find elsewhere. They’re also more aware of the individual seller. Feedback matters. Photos matter. A clear description matters. And I think interaction matters too. A quick, human reply can still make a difference.

Another key thing for me is postage. I’ll be offering free postage wherever possible because, rightly or wrongly, listings with free postage often feel simpler and more attractive to buyers.

Of course, free postage isn’t really free. It has to be built into the selling price, along with packaging, tape, envelopes, fees if they apply, and the original cost of the item.

That’s the part I want to track properly.

If I spend £6.50 and sell the items for £10, that doesn’t mean I’ve made £3.50. I need to take off postage, packing materials, and any selling costs. Only then do I know the real profit.

The challenge is to see whether I can grow a tiny starting pot into £1,000 by buying carefully, selling clearly, and reinvesting the profit rather than taking it out.

It might work. It might crawl along painfully slowly. I might discover that hosepipe connectors are the new Bitcoin, although probably not.

Either way, I’ll keep track of what I buy, what I sell, what I spend, and what the running pot looks like each month.

How I’ll Track It

I don’t want this to become a vague “I think I made a bit of money” sort of challenge. If I’m going to do it, I might as well track it properly.

The important number isn’t sales. It’s the running pot after all costs.

That means recording the original item cost, postage, packing materials, envelopes, tape, any selling fees, and what’s left after everything has been paid for.

For each item, I’ll try to track:

• Date bought
• Item bought
• Where I bought it from
• How much I paid
• How much I listed it for
• How much it sold for
• Postage cost
• Packaging cost
• Any fees or promoted listing costs
• Actual profit
• Amount reinvested
• Running pot (including value of stock in hand)

Because the account is restricted to 18 items and £190 of sales a month, I’ll also need to keep an eye on how much of that monthly limit I’ve used in the first month or two. That makes each listing more important. I can’t afford to waste too many slots on products that sit there doing nothing.

Now let’s see what happens.

Monthly Tally

Month	Opening Pot	Stock Bought	Sales	Costs	Profit	Closing Pot (inc. stock)	Notes
June 2026	£6.50	£6.50	£0.00	£0.00	£0.00	£0.00	First stock bought: hosepipe connectors from Tesco. Account currently limited to 18 items and £190 monthly sales. Get excited with 2 sales in the first day, then nothing for 6 days, then £11 in sales!

Lessons Learnt

Small, light, useful, non-breakable, easy-to-post items feel like the best place to start.

In eBay postage, exclude the following areas as they increase postage costs (Northern Ireland, Isle of Man, Scottish Highlands / North Scotland, Scottish Islands / West coast, Isle of Wight and the Isles of Scilly

Should Age Checks Start With the Phone?

There’s been a lot written in the popular press about children accessing social media platforms and pornography, and about the need for these platforms to carry out some form of age verification.

There’s also the wider question of whether underage children should have certain features throttled back on their smartphones, or whether they should be allowed to use these devices in exactly the same way as adults.

I do agree that social media platforms and websites have a responsibility to be more vigilant when it comes to protecting children. That feels obvious enough.

But I do wonder if we’re missing a trick with the devices themselves.

Surely it can’t be too difficult for age verification to happen on the phone itself, tied to the device and the person using it. The phone could then carry that age status with it and decide which sites, apps, and platforms it is allowed to connect to, or which features should be restricted.

That wouldn’t mean social media companies, adult sites, app stores, or messaging platforms get to wash their hands of the issue. They still have a role to play in keeping children safe.

But device-level age verification could add another layer of protection around the content children see, the messages they receive, and the platforms they can access.

I’m sure there are privacy, security, and practical issues I haven’t thought through yet. There probably always are with this kind of thing.

But as a seed of an idea, I think it’s worth looking into.

We;; this turned into a very timely post, within about four hours of me putting this post live, the BBC News reported that "Starmer tells Apple and Google to ban nude images on children's phones".

The article was a little bit interesting, as before I read it (and not being a fan of Apple products), I didn't realised that Apple has already age-verified its UK users and even offers a blocking service for several of its own apps including iMessage; so the technology is out there, we do just need the tech companies to step up to the plate and help protect the youngest in society.

Doom Scrolling and the Slot Machine Effect

There are a lot of people talking about the addictive nature of social media platforms, especially the idea of doom scrolling.

That endless feed is a geat design for these platforms, you never really get to the end of it. There’s always another post, another video, another opinion, another tiny hit of something. Good, bad, funny, annoying, useful, pointless. It just keeps coming. Very good engineering design that does make these platforms "addictive", not sure if addictive is the right term, or whether they are just designed to make it hard to stop!

I had a thought earlier about whether social media platforms are built with some of the same ideas as slot machines.

Slot machines can be addictive because they offer the possibility of a “win”. You pull the lever, or press the button, and maybe this time something good happens. Maybe this time you get the reward.

And I wonder whether doom scrolling works in a similar way.

You keep scrolling because the next great piece of content might be just one swipe away. Most of what you see might be rubbish, irritating, repetitive, or forgettable, but every now and then you find something that makes you laugh, teaches you something, shocks you, or gives you that little feeling of reward, that little hit of endorphins, which is probably the same as that slot machine win.

This is only a seed post for now, because I need to read more about it properly, but I do think there’s something interesting here. The endless scroll might not just be convenient design. It might be one of the reasons these platforms are so hard to put down.

We Basically Invented Google (kinda)

In the mid-1990s, I worked in the Marketing Department at BT in Leeds.

We were based at Butts Court at the time, and one of my mates there was Jason, better known as “Caratacus”.

For some reason, the two of us had got into the habit of thinking up questions during the morning. Not useful questions, necessarily, just odd little things we suddenly wanted answers to.

Who was that actor in that film? Where did a certain phrase come from? Who sang a particular song? What was the capital of somewhere obscure? The sort of thing that would now be settled in about four seconds on your phone, before anyone had even finished arguing about it.

But this was the mid-90s. The internet existed, technically, but not in any useful way for two lads sat in an office in Leeds trying to settle a lunchtime curiosity.

So we had our own system.

At lunchtime, we’d nip round the corner to Waterstones and start looking through the books until we found the answer.

Reference books, film books, dictionaries, atlases, encyclopaedias, whatever looked like it might do the job. We didn’t buy them, obviously. We just used Waterstones as a sort of analogue search engine with nice carpets.

And the thing is, it worked.

Ask a question. Search the available information. Find the most likely source. Check the answer. Report back with entirely unearned confidence.

Basically, Jason “Caratacus” and myself invented Google a couple of years before Google officially existed.

Admittedly, our version involved walking around the corner, manually browsing shelves, and trying not to look like we were treating a bookshop as a free research department.

But the core concept was there.

So yes, I’m not saying Larry Page and Sergey Brin stole our idea.

I’m just saying that if they’d been in Waterstones in Leeds in about 1996, they might have seen the future.

The Palms of Ocracoke (Mild Horror)

This story started while I was on holiday in Spain, staring at the palm trees opposite the Bali beds we had by the pool.

Right at the top, where the fan-shaped leaves meet the trunk, the crowns looked strangely dark. For a second I thought I saw movement up there. It was probably a bird. Probably.

But then I started wondering ...  what if something lived up there? Something humanoid, but not quite human. A spirit, maybe. Someone lost. Something waiting.

That tiny thought became The Palms of Ocracoke.

Nobody on Ocracoke liked being near the palm grove after dark.

The strange thing was that even on still evenings, when the sea air had completely died away, the fronds at the very tops of the trees still seemed to move.

The villagers had plenty of explanations for it. None of them good.

Some said a demon lived among the crowns of the trees. Others claimed to have seen something small and human-shaped moving through the darkness above them.

Whatever the truth, most people gave the grove a wide berth.

Maeve never paid much attention to the stories.

Fear had lost most of its meaning 15 years ago.

During a violent autumn storm, a sudden flood had torn through the island’s low gullies. Her 7-year-old son, a bright, spirited boy with a shock of red hair, had vanished in the deluge.

His body was never found.

The village assumed the current had swept him out to sea. Maeve had spent the years since waiting for a knock on the door that would never come.

On the 15th anniversary of the storm, Maeve walked into the palm grove for the first time.

The mud sucked at her boots. The air was thick with damp earth, salt, and rotting vegetation. Above her, the palm crowns shifted in the dark, even though the air was still.

She kept walking.

At the end of a narrow gully, the trees seemed to gather closer together. Their trunks leaned inward, as though they were listening.

Then something moved above her.

Maeve looked up.

In the crowded crown of the nearest palm, the shadows twisted. A small figure stepped out from behind the trunk and stared down at her.

Maeve didn’t scream. She didn’t run.

She looked at the figure and felt a strange, sudden ache in her chest.

“Please,” she whispered into the dark. “Don’t be afraid.”

The figure froze.

Then a sudden rush of wind swept down from the fronds.

It struck Maeve.

There was no violence in it. Instead, a flood of memory, fear, and grief burst through her mind.

The spirit entered her and was instantly overwhelmed by the weight of her sorrow. For 15 years, he had been a lost and lonely thing in the dark, acting out only because he wanted to be seen. Now, through her, he understood the hole he had left behind.

He felt her sleepless nights. Her refusal to leave the island. Her fierce, stubborn love that had never faded.

And Maeve felt him.

She saw his final moments on the day of the storm. The roar of floodwater tearing through the gully. His small hands gripping the slick bark of a palm tree as the water rose around him. The awful snap of wood. The suffocating rush of mud and debris that buried him before he could cry out for her.

He hadn’t been washed out to sea.

He had been here all along.

Trapped between worlds. Terrified. Homesick.

Maeve wrapped her arms tightly around herself, holding the spirit within her as though she were holding him as a child again.

Tears streamed down her face, but she smiled through them.

“I’ve got you,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry. It wasn’t your fault, my sweet boy. It was just the storm. You can rest now. Momma’s here.”

She gave him everything she had left. Every ounce of love, forgiveness, and peace she had carried through all those years.

And at last, the boy stopped fighting the pull of the afterlife.

The cold fear that had gripped his soul for over a decade began to thaw.

He let go.

By morning, the fog had lifted from the grove.

The villagers found Maeve on her knees in the mud at the end of the gully, calm and tear-streaked, staring at the earth between her hands.

There, pushing through the damp soil, was a tiny palm sapling.

It was unlike any other tree in the grove.

While the rest of the palms were deep green, the very top of this young plant, where the fan leaves were just beginning to form, carried a bright, unmistakable shock of crimson.

Maeve gently touched the red frond.

“He’s home,” she whispered to the quiet forest. “He’s finally home.”

The village never feared the palm grove again.

In the years that followed, the old stories changed. People no longer spoke of demons in the crowns of the trees. Instead, they spoke of the boy who was lost, the mother who found him, and the strange little red-crowned palm that grew in the place where love had finally reached through the dark.

The People of the Airport Baggage Carousel

Got to love an airport baggage carousel, everyone stands there pretending to be relaxed, while quietly scanning a conveyor belt with the intensity of a police stakeout. I’ve started naming the different groups of people you always seem to find there, mainly for my own entertainment.

The Gatekeepers
They stake out their claim at the start of the conveyor belt like guards. For them, the holiday hasn’t properly started, or ended, until they are the very first person to touch a handle.

The Commando
He turns a routine task into a mission. Sharp elbows, intense eye contact, and absolutely no regard for the social contract of personal space, and definately no manners as he (yeah it's usually a 'he') pushes he way to the front and takes you out as he manhandles his luggae from the belt.

The Over Packers
Sweet, over-packed, and physically outmatched by their own belongings. They are usually a frail older couple who rely entirely on the unspoken airport rule that someone stronger will eventually step in to do the heavy lifting for you.

The Second-Guessers
They suffer from temporary luggage amnesia. Every ruddy suitcase that rolls past sparks a full marital debate about whether they bought a new bag before departure. Come on, you only said goodbye to it in Manchester a couple of hours ago, surely you can remember what it looked like!

The Snipers
They hang back perfectly calm. They don’t move until they spot the target, then they step in, execute a clean retrieval, and vanish towards the exit before anyone else has even noticed them.

I think I’m probably a Sniper. At least, that’s what I tell myself.

The Autograph I Never Asked For

Back in the mid-90s, I was stood on a train platform in Leeds waiting for a train down to London for a meeting, when I suddenly spotted :contentReference[oaicite:0]{index=0}. As a massive football fan and lifelong Manchester United supporter, it genuinely stopped me in my tracks. To this day, I still think he was the greatest player ever to play in England. Effortless, unpredictable, flawed, brilliant... football’s first real rock star.

I desperately wanted to go over and ask for an autograph, but he was with a young woman and I convinced myself I shouldn’t interrupt him. It felt like his private time, and I didn’t want to become another overexcited fan shoving a scrap of paper under his nose. So I stayed quiet, watched him from a distance for a few moments, then got on my train.

And honestly... I still regret it.

Since then, I’ve gone out of my way to speak to people I admire when the opportunity appears. Not in an intrusive way, but just enough to say hello, shake a hand, or share a quick word. Life moves far too quickly to spend it worrying about looking daft for thirty seconds. Sometimes the moments you don’t take stay with you far longer than the ones you do.

In fact, writing this has reminded me to finally reach out and contact Dick Van Dyke. Funny how old regrets can still give you a little push years later.

I'm sad about dying

I don't think I'm afraid of dying.

My personal belief system tells me that life doesn't simply end, and I believe I'll be reborn in some form, somewhere.

But I do sometimes feel sad at the thought of my final days.

I honestly believe that I'll know the very last time I see the people I love; my beautiful wife and my amazing daughters. When my mind wanders in that direction, I find it very sad and painful. Even just writing this brings a ruddy tear to my eye!

I think, particularly as a parent, these thoughts hit harder than the very thought of death itself.

Not because I'll be gone. Not because I know they'll carry on without me. Simply because I'll know that I'll never see them again.

I think it's strange that I can make peace with my own ending far more easily than I can make peace with leaving the people I love behind.

I am always hopeful that:

1. I am a long way from my final days.

2. I'll learn to come to terms with the end, and not find it quite as sad as I do now.

Developing my Digital Garden

I have to say that I’m pretty happy with this digital garden as it stands right now.

It does what I want it to do. It gives me a place to write, think, and put ideas out into the world without overthinking them. [What is a Digital Garden]

But… I keep getting ideas.

Not big, grand plans. Just little things that I might add, change, or experiment with over time. Some of these will happen soon, some later, and some probably never.

That’s the point, I think. This isn’t a finished thing. So with that in mind, here’s a running list of where this might go next.

Things I’m Thinking About

"Post" Order
At the moment the main page is in Chronological order of when the post was created, I really want to change this at sometime to ensure that they are in modified (tended) order, that would just help anyone that comes along see where my thinking is currently at. It's one of the top things I need to do, just not a priority for me right now.

Newsletter
Some people might want updates when new posts go live. I’ve been looking at Buttondown, and it feels like it would fit nicely without turning this into a “marketing” thing, and allow people (if they wanted), to catch my updates.

RSS feed
This is an easy win. I just need to stop putting it off and actually switch it on properly.

Planted and tended dates 
I like the idea of exposing the date any post is created (Planted) and modified (Tended), it would just give the reader and idea of the age of the piece and nothing else. Now Live. Not going to lie, it took a lot of time to get the Tendered date sorted, which was actually my error as it seemed to be giving spurious dates, but I forgot that I changed some labels around 😂 

Comments
Was in two minds about this. This space is mainly for me getting ideas out of my head, but I know some people will want to respond. Digital gardens don’t always lean that way, and I don't really care what people think anyway about my posts if I'm being honest, so this will stay off. 

Analytics
I don’t want to get obsessed with numbers, but I do want a rough idea of what people find useful. If something connects, I’d like to build on it rather than ignore it. Live

Bidirectional links
This is a big part of the digital garden idea. If a post links to another post, or something links back in, I’d like to show that connection. It helps ideas feel joined up rather than scattered. I still have no idea how I am going to achieve this.

A “Now” page
A simple page that shows what I’m doing or thinking about right now. No polish, just a snapshot. Now Live

Best of the Garden
A small, changing list of posts that are worth a read. Not everything, just the ones I think have something about them. Live - they are on the homepage as "Pinned" and "Best Of".

Topic pages
Turning some labels into proper pages, so related posts live together in a more intentional way.

Updating old posts
Going back and adding notes to older posts when my thinking changes. Less “publish and forget”, more “publish and grow”.

I might also move towards a simple structure where posts are tagged as #seed (a quick idea), #sprout (something taking shape but not quite there yet), and #flower (something I’m happy to call finished).

It feels like a natural fit for a digital garden, and it would give me an easy way to find posts that need a bit more work.

Short notes
Not everything needs to be a full post. Quick thoughts, ideas, or links with a bit of commentary. Live in sense that I have started writing shorter posts ... germs of ideas (or indeed seeds)

A proper search page
Blogger already has search, but giving it its own page would make it feel more like part of the site. Now Live and part of the core navbar.

Blogroll / interesting people
A page of sites and people I rate. Feels like a nice nod to the wider web.

Changelog
A simple log of changes to the site. Small tweaks, experiments, things that worked and things that didn’t.

This isn’t a roadmap. It’s just a list of things that feel interesting right now.

If you’re reading this in the future, you’ll be able to see which ones actually made it.

 

 

The Father Figure I Didn't Realise I Had

My grandad was Norman Griffiths.

I can't tell you how much I loved my maternal grandad. Even in my early twenties, I used to say that I couldn't wait to become a grandad myself one day.

I lost Grandad in 1994 when I was 27. He was only 72.

Thankfully, one of my daughters gave me my first grandchild, Freddie, in 2025, so I finally got my chance.

The reason I'm writing this is because I've just had a bit of a realisation.

My dad left when I was 11. Looking back, I think Grandad quietly became my father figure after that. I don't think I'd ever consciously thought about it before, but it explains a lot about why I adored him so much.

When I was growing up, he could be a pain and brilliant in equal measure.

There were the ruddy chin pinches and the times he'd trap me between his legs so I couldn't escape. As a child, that was endlessly annoying. Looking back now, I'd probably give anything to experience it one more time.

We weren't a wealthy family, but my grandparents always seemed to find a way. They bought some of our best Christmas presents, and I'm fairly sure they helped pay for our annual holidays to Great Yarmouth.

More importantly, Grandad taught me things that had nothing to do with money. He helped shape the person I became. The older I get, the more I realise how much of my outlook, values, and approach to life came from him.

It's funny how some things take decades to understand.

I always knew I loved my grandad.

What I've only just realised is that, after my dad left, he became the man I looked up to most.

Love you, Grandad.

VAR do your job

Football has always had its dark arts, but diving feels like it’s getting harder and harder to ignore. Some of it is subtle. Some of it is laughably obvious. A player feels the slightest touch, throws themselves to the floor, then rolls around like they’ve been hit by a van. The frustrating part is that everyone watching can often see exactly what’s happened within seconds, especially with slow-motion replays from five different angles.

That’s why I keep coming back to the same thought... VAR, do your job. If the technology exists to spend three minutes checking whether someone’s toenail was offside, then surely it can step in when a player has clearly tried to con the ref. Diving is cheating. Simple as that. Start handing out yellow cards retrospectively for obvious simulation and I honestly think a lot of it disappears within a season. Right now, there’s barely any downside to trying it, and that’s part of the problem.

Pinter FAQ: Everything I’ve Learned Brewing With the Pinter

I’ve been using the Pinter for a while now, and this page pulls together the questions I had before buying one, the things I’ve learned through brewing with it, and the small tips that have made the biggest difference.

This is not meant to be a perfect technical manual. It is based on my own use, my own results, and the little bits of trial and error that happen when you brew beer at home in a plastic pressure vessel that lives in your fridge.

Quick note: if you are looking for my real-world Pinter timings, I keep a separate guide here: Pinter brewing times by beer, based on real batches and experiments rather than just the official timings.

On this page:

• General Pinter questions
• Brewing times and conditioning
• Fridge, storage, and serving
• Carbonation and pouring
• Fresh Press and hop oil
• Subscriptions, Co-Pinters, and buying
• Troubleshooting
• My personal Pinter tips

General Pinter questions

What is the Pinter?

At its simplest, you clean the system and sterilise it using the sterilising kit in the box, add water straight from the tap. Add the Fresh Press extract, add the yeast from the kit, give it a good shake, then leave it to brew.

What is the basic Pinter brewing process?

A Pinter is a relatively small 10 pint brewing system that mimics commercial brewing by fermenting at pressure, this tends to mean that brewing is quicker and more reliable that traditional home brewing.

Is it easy to learn to use a Pinter?

Yes, it is. There is also a free app that takes you through the brewing process step by step. The app is also used to manage your account and any subscriptions that you might have.

Is the Pinter worth it?

For me, yes. I like the Pinter and I’m pleased I got one. The idea of brewing around 10 pints of beer at home by just adding tap water to a Fresh Press is appealing, especially when the process itself is part of the fun.

Ten pints also feels like a sensible amount. It is enough to enjoy properly, but not so much that you are stuck drinking the same beer for weeks.

Is the Pinter any good?

I have had some very good results from the Pinter, especially when I follow the recommended brewing and conditioning times and brew at the right temperature.

Within a week or two, depending on the beer style, you can have a decent beer on tap in your fridge. Some beers need longer than the minimum time, but the best results I’ve had have been genuinely enjoyable.

Is Pinter beer any good?

Yes, the ones I've tried have been anyway, they do some very good (and popular) beer styles, they also work with well-known breweries and drinks brands, including BrewDog, Iron Maiden, Lagunitas, Adnams, Yeastie Boys, Signature Brew, Fourpure, and Brewgooder.

That does not mean every beer will be perfect, and personal taste still matters. But the range is far more interesting than a basic homebrew kit, and some of the beers are much better than I expected.

How many pints do you get from a Pinter?

A Pinter makes around 10 pints, which is roughly 5.7 litres.

Is the Pinter easy to use?

Yes, once you understand the process. The basic idea is simple: clean and sanitise the Pinter, add tap water, add the Fresh Press (what they call their concentrated beer), add yeast, shake well, brew, condition, and serve.

The main things that catch people out are temperature, mixing, carbonation, and patience. The Pinter is easy to use, but it still rewards doing the basics properly.

Is the Pinter proper homebrew?

It depends what you mean by proper homebrew. You are not mashing grains or boiling hops, but you are still fermenting beer at home using yeast.

I see it as a halfway point between traditional homebrew and buying beer from a shop. It gives you the fun of brewing, but without needing a garage full of equipment. I was a proper homebrewer, I did proper all grain brewing as well as extract brewing. It takes time and it's easy to introduce off flavours, this is simpler and it just give me more time to do other stuff now.

Is the Pinter better than normal beer kits?

The Pinter is cleaner, tidier, and more convenient than most traditional beer kits. You do not need bottles, barrels, siphons, or a big fermenting bucket. Pinter is actually more like the pressure brewing of a proper brewery, so results tend to be better.

Traditional beer kits give you more flexibility, and they can be slightly cheaper per pint. The Pinter wins on convenience, neatness, and the fact you can serve straight from the unit.

Brewing times and conditioning

One of the biggest things I’ve learned is that Pinter brewing times are best treated as a starting point, not a perfect rule. The official timings will usually get you to drinkable beer, but my best results have often come from giving the beer a little longer to brew, condition, or settle cold in the fridge.

What is the quickest Pinter beer to brew?

Ciders are usually the quickest and can be ready in as little as 8 days. Some pale ales and IPAs, such as Space Hopper, can also have a minimum time of around 8 days.

That said, I usually recommend giving most beers a little longer if you can. The minimum time often gets you to drinkable. A few extra days can get you to much better.

How long does Pinter beer take to brew?

It depends on the beer. Some lighter styles can be ready in just over a week, while stronger beers, darker beers, and lagers usually benefit from longer brewing and conditioning.

As a rough rule, I would rather give a beer too much time than rush it. Most of my better Pinter results have come from patience (which can be difficult when your keen to try a Pint)

I keep a running list of my own Pinter brewing times and real batch results, because some beers definitely seem to benefit from more patience than the minimum timings suggest.

Should I follow the official Pinter brewing times?

Yes and no, they are a good starting point. I would not go shorter than the official times, especially when you are new to the Pinter.

From my experience, the official times are often the minimum rather than the perfect point. Some beers improve noticeably with extra conditioning.

Can you leave Pinter beer conditioning for longer?

Yes, within reason. Longer conditioning often helps the beer settle, smooth out, and taste cleaner.

I would not ignore the beer for months, but adding a few extra days or even an extra week can help, especially with lagers, stouts, and stronger beers.

Do lagers need longer in the Pinter?

In my experience, yes they do. Lagers usually benefit from longer cold conditioning because they taste better when they have had time to clean up and settle.

You can drink some lagers quite quickly, but the difference between a rushed lager and a properly conditioned one can be quite noticeable.

Do darker beers need longer in the Pinter?

They often do. Darker beers and stronger beers usually benefit from a bit more time, especially during conditioning.

They can taste a little rough or unfinished early on. Give them longer and they often become smoother, rounder, and more enjoyable.

Fridge, storage, and serving

Do I need a fridge for a Pinter?

Ideally, yes (or at least fridge space). The Pinter is about 35cm deep, 23cm wide, and 21cm high, so it takes up a fair bit of fridge space.

You usually need the fridge for cold crashing, conditioning, and serving. Depending on the beer, it may only need to be in the fridge for 3 to 7 days before drinking, but it still needs enough space to sit properly.

How long can beer stay in the Pinter?

Once your beer has finished conditioning, it can stay fresh inside the Pinter for up to 28 days, provided you keep it refrigerated.

The tap mechanism and sealed environment help keep oxygen out, which helps stop the beer going stale. Once you pour the first pint, I would aim to drink the rest within about 7 days to enjoy it at its best and freshest.

Does the Pinter need to stay in the fridge after conditioning?

Yes, once the beer is ready to drink, keep it refrigerated. Cold storage helps the beer stay fresh and keeps the carbonation under control. In winter months a cold kitchen, utility room or bar areas hould be fine most of the time.

Warm beer will foam more, pour worse, and taste less clean.

Can I serve Pinter beer straight away after conditioning?

Yes, but I usually find the first pint can be a little lively or cloudy, depending on the beer.

After the first pour, things often settle down. If the beer is still too foamy or tastes yeasty, it probably needs more time cold. Always pour very slowly at first,

Carbonation and pouring

Does the Pinter carbonate beer properly?

Yes, it can carbonate beer very well. In fact, some beers can be very lively if the carbonation dial is set too high or the beer has not had enough time to settle.

Carbonation depends on the beer style, the dial setting, the brewing temperature, and how long the beer has conditioned. My recommendation if to follow Pinters recommended settings that come with the brew, is that carbonate as you would like, amend it for your next one. I keep a check on all my Pinter brewing times here.

Why is my Pinter beer too foamy?

Foam usually comes from too much pressure, warm beer, not enough conditioning time, or pouring too quickly.

Make sure the beer is properly chilled and let it condition for long enough. Pour at first gently and keep the glass angled. If it is still too lively, give it more time in the fridge.

Why is my Pinter beer flat?

Flat beer can happen if the carbonation setting was too low (1 or 2), the beer was not sealed properly, or fermentation did not complete as expected.

Temperature matters too. If the beer was too cold during fermentation, the yeast may not have done enough work. If it was too warm, the beer can ferment too quickly and still not condition well.

What carbonation dial setting should I use?

I usually treat the carbonation dial as a style guide rather than an exact science. Lagers, pale ales, and ciders often suit a little more carbonation (4-5). Stouts, porters, and darker beers usually suit a little less (3-4).

When you start out, just follow the recommendation in the Pinter app.

Fresh Press and hop oil

What is a Pinter Fresh Press?

The Fresh Press is the concentrated beer mixture you use to brew with the Pinter. You add it to the Pinter with water and yeast, then the beer ferments inside the unit.

Some Fresh Presses also come with hop oil, but not all beers need it.

Why has my Fresh Press not come with hop oil?

Not every Pinter beer needs extra hop oil. Some recipes are designed without it, so it is not automatically a problem if there is no hop oil vial in the pack.

What is the Pinter hop hack?

The Pinter hop hack comes from users worrying about two possible issues with hop oil.

The first is that the thick hop oil may not move properly from the vial into the Pinter. I have personally never had this problem, but in theory, pressure inside the brewing unit could slow it down. If that happens, gently rock the Pinter and the oil should move from the vial.

The second worry is that the hop oil drops straight through the beer and ends up in the brewing base, making it less effective. In my own testing, this has not been an issue. The beer has still taken on the aroma and flavour from the oil.

You can disengage the brewing dock before adding the oil if you want to be extra cautious, but I personally do not think you need to.

Do I need to shake the Pinter hard when mixing?

Yes. Shake well for at least two minutes. Then a few seconds longer just to make sure. The Fresh Press can be thick, so it needs proper mixing. A gentle swirl is not enough.

I have found it best to shake hard and make sure the Fresh Press, water, and yeast are properly combined. Poor mixing can lead to weaker flavour, uneven fermentation, and disappointing beer.

Can I reuse a Pinter Fresh Press?

No. A Fresh Press is designed for one brew only.

Once it has been used, you need a new Fresh Press for the next batch.

Subscriptions, Co-Pinters, and buying

Is Pinter a subscription?

Pinter offers both subscription and non-subscription options.

I personally went for the subscription because it provided two free Pinters at the time. That means I do not have to wait for one beer to finish before starting another. The trade-off is that you commit to placing a set number of beer orders per Pinter (typically between 4-6), but then the Pinter(s) is(are) yours.

Is the Pinter really free?

If you take up one of the subscription offers, you can pick up a Pinter for free.

It is worth reading the terms properly, though. Free usually means you are committing to future Fresh Press orders rather than buying the unit outright.

What is a Co-Pinter?

A Co-Pinter is an additional standalone Pinter body. It lets you brew one beer while drinking from another Pinter.

This is useful because brewing, conditioning, and drinking all take time. Having more than one Pinter makes the whole system feel much smoother.

Can you brew two Pinter beers at once?

Yes, I have two full Pinters, it means that I can have two brewing at the same time. If you get a Co-Pinter, that usually comes without a brewing dock, so you can only start your next brew once your first is conditioning.

This is one of the best reasons to have more than one. You can have one beer conditioning while another is being served.

Is Pinter cheaper than buying beer?

It depends what you compare it with. It is usually cheaper than buying 10 pints in a pub, but not always cheaper than supermarket beer.

For me, the value is not only about price per pint. It is also about the fun of brewing, the choice of beers, and having fresh beer on tap at home.

Troubleshooting

Why does my Pinter beer taste yeasty?

A yeasty taste usually means the beer needs more time to settle, especially cold conditioning time in the fridge.

It can also happen if the Pinter has been moved around too much before serving, or the brewing temperature was too high. Try to keep it still once it is conditioning and serving, and stick to the brewing temperatures recommended in the Pinter App.

Why is my Pinter beer cloudy?

Some beers are meant to be cloudy, especially hazy pale ales and IPAs. But if a beer tastes yeasty or unfinished as well as looking cloudy, it probably needs more time.

Cold conditioning helps the beer clear and settle. A few extra days in the fridge can make a big difference.

Why does my Pinter beer taste weak?

Weak flavour can come from poor mixing, incorrect water levels, brewing too cold, or drinking the beer too early.

Make sure the Fresh Press is fully mixed at the start. Also make sure you fill to the correct level and give the beer enough time to brew and condition.

Why has my Pinter beer not fermented properly?

The most common reason is temperature. Yeast needs the right temperature range to work properly.

If the room is too cold, fermentation can be slow or incomplete. If it is too warm, the beer can ferment too quickly and produce off flavours.

Can I bottle Pinter beer?

You can transfer Pinter beer into bottles, but the system is not really designed for it.

The Pinter works best as a sealed brewing and serving system. Bottling adds extra risk from oxygen, contamination, and carbonation problems.

Can I use normal beer kits in a Pinter?

I would not recommend it. The Pinter is designed around its own Fresh Press system, volumes, pressure, and brewing process.

Other beer kits may not behave properly in the Pinter and could create pressure, flavour, cleaning problems, or break your Pinter!

My personal Pinter tips

What is the best Pinter beer for beginners?

I would start with something forgiving, such as a pale ale, IPA, or cider. These styles tend to be quicker and more reliable than lagers or darker beers.

Once you understand the process, then try lagers, stouts, and stronger beers.

What is the biggest mistake new Pinter users make?

Rushing it. The beer may technically be ready after the minimum time, but that does not always mean it is at its best.

The second biggest mistake is not mixing hard enough at the start. Fresh Press is thick and needs proper shaking. The Pinter App used to say mix for a minute, I think that advice has been updated now, it needs at least two minutes of a good mix.

What temperature should I brew Pinter beer at?

Follow the temperature guidance for the beer you are brewing in the Pinter App. Temperature makes a huge difference to fermentation.

If the room is too cold, the yeast can struggle. If it is too warm, the beer can taste rough. A steady room temperature is usually better than one that swings up and down through the day.

Should I always give Pinter beer longer than the minimum time?

In most cases, yes. I see the minimum time as the earliest point you can drink it, not always the best point.

A few extra days can help the beer taste cleaner, pour better, and feel more finished.

Would I recommend the Pinter?

Yes, but with realistic expectations. It is not magic, and it will not turn you into a master brewer overnight.

But if, like me, you like beer, enjoy a bit of experimenting, and fancy having 10 pints on tap in your fridge, it is a fun bit of kit.

Final note: I’ll keep adding to this FAQ as I brew more beers and learn more from real batches. The Pinter is simple on the surface, but the small details make a big difference.