Another day in Tier 3, another day where I can cock-a-snook (whatever that means) at you lot in Tier 4, which now includes Cambridgeshire.
I have NO idea what further deprivations Tier 4, or Tier 5, or Tier 99 will bring, but rest assured the upshot will be that the only person able to visit pubs will be Eli, the sole GBG ticker on the Isle of Scilly.
In complete contrast to Scilly, my latest walk into central Sheffield (1:27 hours, will I be allowed that after tonight’s restrictions ?) take in more urban attractions.
The Philadelphia looks more appealing every time I walk past.
What I think of as the University quarter either side of West Street is completely deserted.
The spot above is the point where I tripped on the tram line in 2006 while heading for the GBG Red Deer just before closing. Torn jeans and bloodies knees, I just made it.
I’ve never been to the student (and Pulp) fav the Washington. Abbeydale, Black Iris and Bradfield would get you in the GBG 62% of the time (95% of the time in Scotland).
Despite the setbacks of 2020, the cranes still loom large over the city. James is convinced it’s just a giant student accommodation building scheme that will come crashing down when we realise we don’t need students anymore, but as in Manchester cranes warm my heart.
I popped back into the Moor Market to give Beer Central another chance.
They were so lovely and cheery I overlooked the lack of mini kegs of
Doom Bar Belgian Blue and picked a couple of random beers.
It’s hard to do the indoor market justice at the moment; wearing masks means that lingering isn’t any fun and you just get in and out within 15 minutes. But I’m starting to thing that Moor Market is a cracker.
With a can in one pocket and a bottle in the other, and the snow descending, I wasn’t going to linger.
But just behind the market is a little treasure trove of tyre shops, street art and what looks like an unspoilt cracker.
“a juke box was pumping out some middle of the road 70s pop, but it soon calmed down” said Sheffield Hatter, mysteriously, on Pubs Galore.
Back home I decanted my latest Takeaway ticks into the trusty Bass glasses.
The Blue was a bit fizzy; I’ll order ahead for the mini keg next year. But the mysterious Saint Mars of the Desert may just have produced the best canned beer I’ve ever tasted.