Another Matt-inspired night out in Notts for you.
“Are you doing anything Tuesday night?
Can you take me to Nottingham to see Sleeps?”
Young people today. eh ?. Whatever hppnd to txt spk ?
“Sleeps” is “While She Sleeps”, of course, in the way that “Oblivion” is “Better Oblivion Community Center”. Or something.
Anyway, this is Sleeps, who are so enormous you’ve never heard of them. That’s how it works.
You got the idea after three seconds of that video, didn’t you ?
Matt picked the “pub“, Annie’s Burger Shack having made some impression on our last visit. No GBG place anymore, and I played safe with something murky from Tiny Rebel.
I know how much you like pictures of food.
Now, Matt will tell you that stodgy burger and curly fries is not good preparation for an evening in the “pit”, but I had a more sedate gig in mind.
Nottingham was looking its usual lovely self. I almost spent the evening in the VAT & Fiddle.
But there was a new Guide tick on the next stop up the line.
And who can resist the lure of Ilkeston.
The train journey was BRAPA-tastic, a collection of motley youths competing to deliver the most outrageous excuse for not having bought a ticket.
A journey of 15 minutes see the temperature fall by ten degrees and you emerge to a suspicious acrid smell that says “You’re in Derbyshire now, m’duck“.
Ilkeston is a Proper Place, with some good pubs, but it’s quite a shock entering the pedestrianised main street to total darkness.
But then a group of joggers run past, stopping for breath at Heron Foods, and no doubt wishing they were joining me in the Prince of Wales.
Entertainment options in Ilkeston are limited now the Ritz is closed.
But they’ll always be the pubs and bars of South Street. I can’t ever remember walking past the the Prince and thinking “Oooh, pre-emptive !” but it looks obvious now.
Simple but stylish seating,
and a simple but effective beer range.
Mainly Carling flying out, and I immediately wished I’d had the Pale as the ale drinkers all went for the one they’d heard of and the Falstaff was just OK enough (NBSS 2.5).
But the Prince isn’t a pub for ticking, it’s a place to hide from joggers, play pool and hurl abuse at politicians on the telly as the possible Brexit postponement was floated.
Now, what do you do to kill half an hour in Ilkeston before the train back to Nottingham…