We pressed on to the Bradfields, Sheffield’s equivalent of the Hamptons I guess.
One of the largest parishes in Britain, stretching from the housing estates of Stannington to the weekend walker wonderlands of Strines, Bradfield dominates North-West Sheffield and the entrance to the Peak.
High Bradfield has the huge Thwaites dining pub and the eponymous brewery, Low Bradfield has the car park and the cake and the picnic seats. Oh, and the bowling green.
You’re at the north-west tip of Damflask Reservoir here, so expect to see folk dressed as if they’re exploring Nepal.
Far better to take it easy and spread out the white tablecloth and put up the flowers.
How romantic. As a similarly affectionate gesture I made Mrs RM race behind me up the hill to the Plough, which despite the Whitbread livery below is definitely the Bradfield tap.
They’ve set up a little hut outside selling coffee, crumbly chocolate cake and some misleading dispense (autovac not shown); I bet they’ll be open on the Glorious 12th.
So we sat at the table by the river and scowled at folk in tracksuits feeding Warburton sliced bread to ducks,
I don’t know if anyone DID actually sponsor Bradfield loos in 2014, possibly Newark Northgate Railway Station Outreach Service, but they were open and clean and cute. And thank goodness for that.