Blimey. Today it’s 3 months since we moved from the Fens to Sheffield, and became honorary Northerners.
3 months on and Mrs RM is STILL smashing up bits of wood and sending me out on daily Click-and-Collect expeditions to Wickes/Dunelm/B & Q/IKEA.
This is what the spare room looked like last night.
Ignore the ear buds down the back of the weird built-in bed; it’s these little strips of paper you should examine;
Something to do with Sheffield Wednesday, I surmise. But what’s the pub they’re referring to ?
Happily, the sofas and carpet fitters turned up today and all I have to do is take 307 cardboard boxes to the recycling tip, in a hailstorm, and the house will soon be habitable.
By the summer I might even have space to set up my Hi-Fi and bring you some of those reviews of weird female-led Americana you love.
I said last week I wouldn’t feel truly at home till the pubs re-open, but that’s no comment on the folk of Sheffield, who have been without exception friendly and chatty, especially in Morrisons where they all call you “love“, which makes it worth paying the extra 3p on an avocado compared to Aldi.
And I’ve found a reliable takeaway option, alternating between Thai at the Moor Market, kebabs from Charlies and Chinese from Sang Lung. (that’s its name, not what’s in those dishes).
What’s more, I had one of the mysteries of the universe explained in The Moor.
It was a shame when the pubs had to stop doing their take-outs in case we all started licking the Stones handpump, but I’ve enjoyed some cans from local breweries like Tiny Rebel and Gold Label, so I’m doing my bit for the micros.
But it’s pubs we want. Today also marks 3 months since my last pub, if you can call a pint with table service and an unnecessary meal a pub visit.
Only a month to go (please).