Time to say thanks!

I’ve talked about the idea of Everyday Brew Co. I’ve talked about the birthing pains. I’ve shared some of the funny little stories that have happened along the way. It’s now time to say thank you.

It’s mid-February and we’re a few weeks away from our three-month birthday. I’ve got a stinking cold and, if you’ve followed the story, you’ll know I’ve still been working at 360 Degree Brewing Co. whilst running Everyday Brew Co.

I am shattered.

It was a long summer for 360, followed by the emotional and exhausting closure of the brewery building. Then came the late-night sketching of this mad idea. Then the build. All while working full-time, moving house, recording an EP, keeping the band going — then launching Everyday — and still working at 360, three days a week from November.

And the reason I’m more tired than I expected?

You lot.

We’ve been unbelievably busy. Properly busy. Every shift seems to hit that moment where all the tables are full. In January. In February. What is going on?

So firstly — thank you. Truly.

In two weeks, I finish at 360°. That was always the plan: six months from when I told them about Everyday. It’s bittersweet. I offered to stay one day a week for a bit longer because I wasn’t sure they were ready to be rid of me. They kindly said, “Thank you, no thank you.”

And I felt flat.

I gave nearly five years of my life there. Started the taproom. Built Flour & Water. Moved into sales. Became General Manager. When the brewery building closed and close to 20 people lost their jobs, I carried that. Even though I inherited chaos when I stepped into the GM role. Even though we were moving in the right direction. Timing, leases and the previous years all collided at once.

Still — it felt like failure.

Everyday Brew Co. came from that feeling. A chance to save the taproom and kitchen. A chance to protect some jobs. A chance to build something with heart.

So when 360 didn’t need me anymore, it stung — for about 24 hours.

Then I realised something.

I am burnt out. Trying to run two lives has caught up with me. They’re right — I need to focus on Everyday. I need to take a couple of days off. Take Freyja out properly. See my friends again.

And I’m grateful to 360. They could have made it awkward when I took on the building. They didn’t. We stock some of their beer — a lot of it recipes I wrote or developed — and that matters. They kept me on through the launch, and financially I don’t think I would have survived those first months without it.

Now — Freyja.

You backed this when it was just scribbles and spreadsheets and me on full spice-brain mode firing off ideas at 100 miles an hour. You didn’t care about the P&L forecasts or my “foolproof” financial modelling. You just asked, “Do you think it’s the right thing to do?”

I said, “YES!” — because obviously you’d just witnessed my genius-level financial planning (which, by the way, went about £25k or 40% over the budget when we opened the doors).

You said, “OK. Let’s do it.”

We were meant to buy our first house together this summer. That’s on hold because of this. She didn’t just back the idea — she sacrificed stability for it.

You all see me cheerful and energetic in the taproom. Freyja sees the burnt-out version. The non-communicative, doom-scrolling, stressed, occasionally angry or flat version. Launching a business is hard. Running one is hard. Doing it alongside another job is brutal.

And she has absorbed that.

On top of that — the website, the menus, the logos, the social posts, covering shifts — all unpaid, all Freyja.

So thank you. I love you. Can’t do this without you.

Now — the real heart of this place.

If Everyday Brew Co. feels like it has something extra, it’s because of three people.

Helen. Bridget. Pascale.

Let’s start with Helen — my work wife. I feel safe saying that because I’ve met Lily, her actual wife, who once took me aside in full Godfather style and jokingly warned me to treat Helen right or answer to her. It stuck. I don’t treat her the way I do, which is with complete esteem because of Lily, I do it because she has earnt every ounce of respect that I have for her.

Helen was the backbone of the taproom long before Everyday existed. She was effectively running it without the title — her choice — but everyone knew it. She has this quiet, relentless consistency. She holds the admin together. She mops up after my chaos. She’s there in the mornings with a smile when I’m running late. She lights the fire. She steadies me when I spiral. She takes jobs off my plate before I even realise they need doing.

Nobody sees how much she does — and that’s exactly how she likes it.

She’s a permanent face behind the bar. She makes people feel at home. And for me personally, she’s the only person at work I’ll share absolutely anything with. That co-worker line blurred a long time ago — she’s family. Thank you Hels…yes Hels.. 2 and a half years of me calling her Helen and one drunken staff party for to tell me that she doesn’t actually like to be called Helen! I am an idiot.

Then there’s Bridget — the feisty and fearless Bridget of Crowborough.

When you first meet her, you think: what a lovely human. Soft-spoken. Kind.

And then you realise she’s forged from the unholy relation of a battery and an iron bar.

I have never seen her not working. Ever. In two years. She attacks the worst jobs — the grim, unglamorous, minging jobs — with zero ego. Yes, I’m highlighting her cleaning. I know how that sounds. But Christ — she can clean. The way her eyes light up when something disgusting needs sorting. “I’ve been eyeing that up,” she’ll say, like it’s a personal challenge.

But the iron bar isn’t about cleaning.

It’s the steel she has. She leads by example. She stands up for herself. She elevates everyone around her. She’ll give me a look — just a look — and I know I need to step up as a manager. That’s a rare thing.

And then there’s the laugh. The wicked, devious laugh. Sometimes she cracks herself up mid-sentence, goes red, and that infectious laugh spills out and drags everyone with it.

She works 2–3 days for charity alongside us. She shows up fully. And she wins the award for coolest Nanna ever — which tells you everything about where she comes from. Thanks Bridg.

And finally — Pascale.

Pascale is cool in a way I will never be cool. She wafts into shift layered in scarves and hats, bringing this calm, slightly blasé energy that is the perfect antidote to my chaos.

It took three attempts to get her on board — and the fact she’s not currently in Canada — and we are lucky to have her.

Right now she’s playing out of position. Helen and Bridget are smashing roles they’ve done before. Pascale has been gently (and sometimes not so gently) nudged into being my second in the kitchen — a role she didn’t exactly sign up for but absolutely excels in.

Working in a kitchen with me isn’t always serene. The spicy brain turns up loud. The pizza oven and I have arguments. I can be intense. Pascale just calmly carries on. Lets me rant. Occasionally humbles me with a casual, “Oh sorry mate, wasn’t even listening.”

It’s exactly what I need.

She balances me. Grounds me. Makes me belly laugh. And yes — she had never heard of Tenacious D, which has now been forcefully corrected via one full kitchen close of singing. I would challenge anyone not to just vibe off her calm cool and after Freyja gets the award for having to deal with my bullshit the most. Thanks Pas.

Here’s the moment that sums them up.

Soft launch Thursday — I was done. Zombie mode. Saying “thanks, come again” to lifelong friends like they were strangers.

Friday morning — first proper service looming. £43 in the business account. Maxed out everywhere else. Sudden realisation: we’ve barely marketed this thing.

Panic attack.

“No one’s going to come. Before we even open, we’re £400 down in wages.”

I decided I needed to be “The Manager.”

Stomped over. “Right. I need to give you jobs.”

They looked up at me like I was mildly unwell.

“Nah mate. We’re good. We know what we’re doing. Focus on you. We’ve got this.”

And they did.

They’ve had it every single day since.

On paper, Everyday Brew Co. is a bar with a pizza oven.

In reality, it’s Helen’s steadiness. Bridget’s steel and laughter. Pascale’s calm. Freyja’s sacrifice. And all of you choosing to walk through the door.

That’s the special sauce.

So to my team.
To Freyja.
To every single customer.

Thank you.

Three months in — and somehow, we’re still here.