There are still some good beers to worship

"Going on the town" is impossible when there isn't one. This is one of the challenges of modern life. Only a hopelessly old-fashioned town would have at its centre a church, a brewery and a pub or three. Sure, the monks liked to pray and to drink beer, but that was a long time ago. Perhaps they didn't enjoy their city centres. Now, finally, we are taking a more rigorous view. St Paul's Cathedral is a prime city-centre site; Westminster Abbey (which probably once had a brewery) is another. Shouldn't they be turned into luxury flats?

The only English Pope, Nicholas Breakspear (with an "e"), has from his vantage point in heaven seen such a transformation proposed, on the same grounds, for his family's brewery in Henley-on-Thames, Oxfordshire. He's all right, of course. In heaven Brakspear's bitter is always on tap in perfect condition. Hours: eternal.

The similarities between churches and breweries are considerable. Churches have traditionally propounded belief systems too complex and abstract for today's young people. Hence the number of progressive religious leaders who disavow old-fashioned ideas like the existence of God.

Likewise, breweries traditionally made beers with aromas and flavours that are much too demanding for today's generation. Hence the number of progressive brewers working hard to remove any hint of malt or hops from their beers. The terminally old-fashioned brewers at Brakspear's make the hoppiest, and therefore most bitter, ale in England. It is now to be brewed elsewhere, with different equipment, and will slowly die of embarrassment.

God moves in mysterious ways. While in deep despair over Brakspear's, I encountered Bishop's Farewell. This heady brew was first produced seven or eight years ago to honour Bill Westwood, Bishop of Peterborough and keen supporter of the city's beer festival, upon his retirement. Bishop's Farewell is thirst-cuttingly bitter. That same bitterness is instantly appetising, and so moreish that one pint has to be followed by another; you'll be in the Light of India before you can say poppadom.

Brewers have a way of measuring bitterness, and on this scale Bishop's Farewell has twice the sting of most ales or lagers. Despite this, its producers don't call it a bitter. So what is it? "Golden ale" is as good a name as anyone can conjure. It is brewed from Maris Otter, the juiciest of English barleys, malted in this instance to an unusually pale colour. A small proportion of wheat is also used, to crisp up the palate and boost that inviting foam.

To look at the glistening brew with its bright head is to want a mouthful. To smell it, you could be in a hop garden. Those lemony aromas are an English variety of hop called the Challenger. The grapefruity note is the Cascade hop, from Washington state. Alcohol by volume is 4.6 per cent.

I sampled the beer at The Oakham Brewery Tap, in Peterborough's truly awful city centre. At least, despite the planners, it still has a cathedral, pub and brewery. Is it really property values that will soon deny me proper Brakspear's? Or did the management lack belief? The Oakham Brewery is less than 10 years old, makes a more bitter beer, and is on tap from Derbyshire (The Bell Inn, Smalley) to Hertfordshire (The Crooked Billet, Colney Heath). Safeway now has a slightly less strong beer from Oakham, Jeffery Hudson Bitter. Oh my God, they used the "B" word.