Onto Tuesday morning, I think. At least it was THIS Tuesday.
Anyway, it’s a day with a “y” in it and the house looks like THIS,
and I need to get somewhere uncluttered and clean and loveable.
Like a Spoons.
The Francis Newton was heaving on the Glorious 12th, the largest Spoons garden in town overwhelmed with students and medics from Sheffield General.
But at 10.30 on a drizzly Tuesday, it’s just the hardcore folk who love Spoons, and/or want a £3.79 cooked breakfast. Which is the same thing.
I’m here to save cask, like this cute Stancil Ginger winningly served in a Thatchers glass which was superbly crisp and tasty (3.5).
A chap who resembled a vegan Peter Hook told his mate, who resembled a vegetarian Pete Doherty, that “people are a landscape” and how he’d had his Shredded Wheat “Just the one!”.
It’s OK, but as BRAPA tells us it’s not the same, and as I nip in for the loo visit that confirmed my entry in ALL THE PUBS IN SHEFFIELD ON FOOT No. 12 – The Francis Newton,
I realised how much I’m looking forward to the 17th.
The beer inside will taste even better inside.