retiredmartin

No, not the Red Stripe. That’s craft lager.

These posts are falling into a predictable pattern;

Go for an energetic walk, take pics of crumbling industry and dubious street art, note a permanently closed shop with tiling porn, make a mental note to revisit a pub serving John Smiths, and buy some take-out in a 2 pint milk carton.

Well, what do you expect ? No gigs, no football, no museums, no pubs for who-knows-how-long.

But on my latest walk into town via the Valley of Beer,

there’s some real delights for the arts fan on a future Old Codgers Pub Crawl.

In case you wondered, a glory hole is “a small locker at the stern of a boat or a storeroom between decks of a ship“.

That said, the pic below looks NOTHING like Baa Baa Toure.

Tonight’s slice of 60s industrial heritage comes courtesy of Woollens of Love Street (less exciting than it sounds), about whom I knew nothing…

….till I found this post-apocalyptic site, where folk break into derelict buildings and take photos of old brewery signs to raise Stafford Paul’s blood pressure.

My target was the less exciting but more legal Bar Stewards, one of Sheffield’s top places for cans of murk from Cornwall and Carluke.

I can’t describe the joy of actually entering an actual GBG entry,

even if you have to stand on one leg between the yellow-and-black stripes, and even if there’s only one keg beer on tap (everyone was buying crates of Deya).

LOOK ! A man pouring a beer !

I didn’t spill any on the walk home. Even up the icy Daniel Hill hill.

Luckily Mrs RM didn’t ask me what it was called, just how strong it was (6.7%, average for 2020). #PubWoman.

Northern Monk’s Can of Whup Ass (same to you, mate). It was marvellous.