I’ll never forget the time that, pouring with sweat, unbearably dizzy and trembling the morning after my 29th birthday, suffering the worst hangover of my entire life, Kier Wiater Carnihan introduced me to the power of the incomparable brown brew. I had incurred liver damage from seven months taking a foul drug called Lamotrigine for my temporal lobe epilepsy, and just four glasses of red wine on my birthday left me completely paralysed and in utter agony the next day. 

“Kier… I can’t move.”

“You’ve had paracetamol, a shot of vodka, cayenne pepper and ibuprofen? That’s it: we’re going to the bar.”

Practically having to carry me, he led my quaking semi-corpse to the nearest pub.

“If nothing will fix it, Guinness will fix it.”

A pint and a half later my vision was clear, the shakes vanished and I was human again. Truly, I don’t know anyone who has done more to celebrate and demonstrate the power of this drink than he. So it’s only fitting that they showcase his grubby ass with his band Parlour in an advert.

Now that’s the kind of selling out I can get behind. As he put it, “Sold out to Guinness, albeit probably for less money than I’ve given them over the years…” Aces high kids. 

 

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