Is he ready to celebrate?

I now know the meaning of "shell shocked". Ken Brooker should have been a happy man. But his face was ashen, his shoulders stooped, and he shook his head from side to side as though his hearing was impaired. He had the look of man who'd just been told he'd won the Cam-paign for Real Ale's Champion Beer of Britain competition. It was my job at the Great British Beer Festival at London Olympia last week to announce the results of a competition that can mean a massive boost in sales and awareness for the winner. I called Ken and his wife, Ingrid, on to the stage to receive their plaque, and unwisely asked Ken to say a few words to the crowd. It was like asking a newly-arrived Martian to recite verbatim the complete works of Shakespeare. Ken is usually a man who can talk until the wee small hours, but he mumbled his thanks, almost forgot to take the plaque, and staggered off the stage. Ken is an experienced brewery owner. Harviestoun, based in Dollar in Scotland, is a long-running micro. It opened in 1985 in the tough Scottish market where there are few tied pubs, and where the giants of S&N and Tennent Caledonian bestride the free trade. He has built Harviestoun into a successful company. He has won many prizes for his beers, including Champion Beer of Scotland. But he knows that winning the supreme national accolade from Camra will put his brewery under strain as the orders pour in. Ken wears a fetching kilt, but he's not a Scot. He actually hails from Dagenham in Essex. He went to work in Scotland for the Ford Motor Company but became tired of that job and decided, after a few false starts with other ventures, to turn his hand to brewing. He'd been a keen home-brewer for years and he reckoned he could probably go the extra mile and become a commercial beer maker. He based his brewery in the cattle byre of an old farm. The thick stone walls act as natural insulation, keeping the fermenting beers cool in summer. At first he concentrated on traditional beer styles, producing 70 and 80-shilling ales, names that are the result of a simple Victorian method of invoicing for beer: the higher the strength, the more shillings you paid. Over the years, he refashioned the brands and the brewery's image. He still produces a superb 80-shilling called Ptarmigan, which is rich, dark and fruity. But he achieved enormous success with something that's rare in Britain ­ a genuine lager. He named it Schiehallion after a local mountain and, with tongue-in-cheek humour, uses a German hop called Hersbrucker. Then, a few years ago, he added Bitter & Twisted, and joined the growing fashion among small Scottish craft brewers to move away from darker, sweeter beers to pale and hoppy ales. The beer happened almost by accident: Ken was fined for speeding, appealed against the conviction, lost the appeal and went home to brew Bitter & Twisted to match his mood. It's not a beer that will put you in a bad temper, though. I was a member of the final panel of judges at Olympia and we were all bowled over by the sheer delight of the beer, with its near-perfect balance of juicy malt, tart citrus fruit and tangy, bitter hops. It's highly complex, made from Pearl pale malt, a touch of slightly darker crystal malt, oats and wheat. The hops include Ken's much-loved namesake, Hersbrucker. He knows he's in for a tough time now, which explains the shell-shock. Already, the phone will be ringing non-stop and the answering machine will be red hot. Pubs and wholesalers throughout the country will be clamouring for impossible volumes of Bitter & Twisted. But the timing is good. In November, Ken, Ingrid and their small team will move a few miles to a new, custom-built and bigger brewery that will be able to cope with the demand for their beers. The name of the small town of Dollar has nothing to do with the American currency. It comes from the Latin and means sadness. Last week, Ken Brooker looked a trifle dolorous ­ but I bet by now he's got a grin big enough to post a letter in. www.protzonbeer.com