I was woken at 6.30 this morning by a sharp nudge in the ribs (steady, Russ).
“You need to go and do a big shop. But get me a coffee first“.
Yes, Mrs RM has fallen for the hysteria sweeping the nation following the French blockade. I can confidently say that the last French item I bought was this 7″ single;
and have no need for those 750cl bottle of La Goudale or 2 day old baguettes.
But I do as I’m told, and lugged the Aygo down the hill to Hillsborough Morrisons.
Well, there was no panic buying. Perhaps because Northerners are less reliant on brie than London, perhaps because Morrisons are better at stocking shelves than Waitrose, perhaps because there’s a choice of a dozen supermarkets within a mile radius.
Occupying the old Artillery Parade Ground, Morrisons really is a pleasant shopping experience, and has some very shiny cans.
I took home a Buxton Axe Edge and Siren/Salt IPA for Mrs RM’s breakfast, but resisted the True Craft.
I DID, however, slip a four pack of Stones in the last possible gap in the trolley, to see what all the fuss is about. Let me assure you, it’s NOT the best beer from Burton.
I popped back on foot to explore Hillsborough a little further.
The “abandoned vehicle as art” is quite something.
Apart from the New Barracks itself, it feels a little under-pubbed, but they had barrels of Abbeydale round the back of the Queen’s Ground, which may just be ready to serve by the time pubs re-open.
The centre of the suburb, apart from the Subway and transport interchange, is the scary looking Loxley.
Oh, and the Spoons. Back in March, before our last pre-Lockdown football, it was standing room only in the Rawson Spring.
I’d have given anything for a pint of Doom Bar outside in the Container Bar today.