Yep, St Patrick’s Day. That’s how far behind I am on these posts. But at least they’re short so they won’t detain you from following MV3 on the big screen.
The day after the trauma of spending an hour trapped with rugger fans I was on driving duties as Mrs RM took a rare day off to check on James in Sheffield. As with Paul Bailey’s wonderful blog, I like to think you know more about my family than I do.
Well, James was fine, though oddly reticent to let Mrs RM see his digs. We were all keen to know what pubs and nightclubs he’d been to in Sheffield, presumably the main reason you pay £9,250 a year to study something obscure like Computer Science.
James lives a few yards from the Wellington (formerly Cask & Cutler), possibly a bit “CAMRA” for the many Chinese students and computer nerds in Sheffield 2.
We headed into Greater Kelham Island and the indoor food carts of the Cutlery Works for brunch, some of us being middle-class.
I mentioned this giant posh food court last time. Not quite Mackie Mayor, the cask range is a bit corporate, but the place to come if you have a beard, a two year old called Emily and like making your own sushi.
At 11am we got a trestle table next to Ma-Ba. By noon you couldn’t move for buggies and man scarves.
Mrs RM declined the Thornbridge keg with her veggie Thali (excellent), the lads stuck to pies (NOT Pieminster).
I joined the boys at the Odeon to watch Captain Marvel for 2/3rds the cost of a Cambridge cinema ticket. My first ever Marvel film, and probably my last.
We then had to meet up with Mrs RM who’d been engaged in a campaign to stop buying stuff by buying stuff.
There’s only so long you can stand outside the Town Hall so we went to the pub.
Actually, the Devonshire Cat is more continental café bar than pub.
I’d read a tweet about duff service at the Dev that week, and I always like to get the evidence for myself.
A lovely lady who recommended soft drinks in the absence of J20s and managed to explain beer styles without coming across all beer sommelier.
And a lovely cross-section of Sheffield life, some of it more disappointed by the lackof Guinness than others.
Because I’m all heart, I’d got Mrs RM two halves of crafty keg when she finally arrived with bags of decluttering junk. An Abbeydale Heathen and an Almasty. But you knew that. I only had a sip while I was waiting.
We stayed for burgers, I got Mrs RM the Abbeydale Black Mass on handpump (6.66%), after which she seemed to wobble a bit.
As we left she went to put her possessions away in her handbag. Inexplicably, she picked up the pot of mayonnaise and put it in her bag, leaving her mobile on the table.
“Mrs RM !” I cried.
Then, 2 minutes up toward West Street, that nice lady ran after us waving Mrs RM’s
pashmina scarf she’d left behind.
“Fastest I’ve run in weeks” she said.
Lovely folk in Sheffield, you know.