You left me standing opposite Rotherham Minster with a flat white (Derbyshire : “picnic”) in my hand, with about 20 minutes to go till I picked up something essential for Mrs RM.
There was no one about, bar an old chap perched on a seat 20 yards away with his takeaway coffee (probably a latte, all old people go for a latte), so I also took a seat on the wall of the Minster for a few seconds.
A lady stared at ME, then started a long tirade about young people ignoring the rules, all the while looking at me. Yes folks, even you can be thought of as young in Rotherham.
Suitably chided, I jumped up and took my flat white on a further exploration of the Edwardian splendour,
interspersed with “art” perhaps lost on happy Harry and hairnet Hilda but appealing to me.
Talking of alliteration, I had high hopes for the Hoo Ha Bar (near the High House),
but it’s one of approximately 377 closed pubs in town.
The Wellington has been closed so long it’s escaped the grip of What Pub,
I’d have loved a session in the Cutlers, but it’s always the Alma that draws me in, with the foliage now protected by the Forestry Commission.
I only went in once, nearly 20 years ago. In truth, it wasn’t great beer, but it WAS dirt cheap and that attracted the sort of clientele that Pub Men really want, not the polite atmosphere of the microbar.
They don’t make them like this anymore (thank goodness, says Will, possibly).