I had been to Belgium once before. As the new bloke in the UK office I was soon summoned to meet "The Boss", another Englishman, based in Antwerp, and responsible for all operations in the UK, France and Benelux. The Boss, as he shall be referred to, was what is known in the trade as a "ruthless bastard". He was not only known within our company, but throughout the industry in general. He had hired and fired more people than I had drank bottles of Newcastle Brown. Which is quite a few, in case you were wondering.

So it was with some trepidation that I agreed to his kind offer of "showing me a night in Antwerp". Well at least I might get to drink in some of the wonderful Antwerp beer cafés I thought. Wrongly, as it turned out. The Boss's idea of a "night in Antwerp" was spending 6 hours in the same Irish bar on the outskirts of the city centre, drinking bad Guinness. Having spent a lot of time in Dublin, I know what Guinness should taste like. And this was not good Guinness. But if The Boss says you should drink bad Guinness, then you drink bad Guinness. And like it.

So having passed the "initiation test" ..... i.e. getting rat-arsed until 3.00am and then arriving in the office the following morning at 8.30am as fresh as a daisy ..... I was allowed to keep my job, and about three months later was back on business in Belgium, this time near Brussels. So to set the scene .... I am staying in the Hotel Mercure in Evere, close to Brussels Airport and just along the road from NATO headquarters. A brief stroll around the immediate area does not turn up any inviting cafés ... except a little place called "Contact", the sort of bar with dim lighting and an ultra-violet strip in the window... you know, the kind of place where lonely NATO members might want to meet "young ladies" if you get my drift ..... so, I decided to play it safe and go back to the hotel bar.

Once back at the hotel, I strolled up to a stool at the bar. I noted that my barman was called "Gino" and he had a nice certificate telling me he had spent 4 years in university learning to pour beer properly. Or was it 4 minutes ?? Anyway, I decided he might know a thing or two, so I struck up a conversation :

"So Professor, I am after some guidance. I don't know too much about Belgian Beer, so why dont you recommend something from the beer list".

Eager to show off the fruits of his beer pouring studies, he responded :

"Have you tried a Duvel Sir ??"

"No, cant say I have. Fire away."

So Professor Gino of the University of Beer Pouring went to his fridge and pulled out the famous red lettered bottle. He flipped off the cap and poured the foaming golden liquid into what looked like a giant brandy glass, and placed it before me. And there it was .... my first Duvel. 'Looks like a lager', I thought. 'Does this bloke think I am some kind of sissy lager drinker ??' Oh well, best to humour him .... and like the uncouth Englishman that I am, I dispensed with the pleasantries, stuck my nose straight into the three inches of foam and took a good long drink. 'Bllllooooooooody hell, thats good stuff' I thought, taking in the hoppy aroma and lingering after taste. 'It certainly isn't a lager, thats for sure !!'. Being a bit thirsty, my first Duvel only saw the light of day for about 5 minutes.

"I'll have another one of them please Gino" I said to my new best friend. He duly obliged and another foaming golden brew was placed in front of me.

Well to cut a long story short, just over three quarters of an hour later I was just getting into my fourth glass, when it suddenly dawned on me that having had just three glasses, which is around 1 litre, i.e. less than two pints, I felt like I normally do after about 5 or 6 pints of bitter. 'Am I going soft ??' I thought. 'Must be my imagination'. So I downed the fourth glass and prepared to order another .... and it was about then that the Duvel took my soul. My head went completely numb and I could feel a huge grin starting to spread across my face.

"This Duvel is bloody good stuff Gino !!" I said to the Barman. At least that is what I intended to say. By the look on Gino's face, perhaps it hadn't come out like that. What was happening ..... four small bottles of beer and I've lost the power of speech. I picked up the empty bottle that Gino had left beside my glass, and after a few seconds of desperately trying to focus, I finally managed to make out those fateful digits ..... 8.5% alcohol ..... mmmmm, now that would explain a few things !!! Foolishly I ordered a fifth bottle and foolishly Gino gave me a fifth bottle .... and that was about all I could remember. The next thing I knew it was 8.15 am and I was laid across my hotel bed with my trousers around my ankles where I had tried to take them off over my shoes. Remarkably I had no hangover, but the inside of my mouth tasted like I had a family of gorillas living inside it.

The Duvel had taken my soul, but you could count on one thing .... it didn't matter how many bottles I had to drink, I was going to take it back !!