More urban pubs, this time an open one as I combine a trip to the shops with a trip to the boozer. See ? Men CAN multitask.
My walk towards Hillsborough Stadium takes me past a real mix of pubs, from the sports bar with Mrs RM friendly craft cans,
to a succession of bars with a focus on gin. If Newcastle is obsessed with cats and mice, Sheffield is obsessed with monkeys.
I could get exotica like Bradfield Blonde in these if I’m lucky, but as I’m on the wagon it’s another day to hunt down the low alcohol options in the chain pubs.
The Shakey has a nice sign urging informality, but instead I head for a Mitchells & Butler Sizzling Grill, one of the closest options for visiting Cambridge United fans next season. They’ll love the prices.
When I read how many pubs have had disappointing turnover since the Heaventeenth, I look at this picture,
and realise how off-putting it is to the casual visitor.
All you really need is a dwarf in the window to tempt you in.
“Have you booked ?” I’m asked, turning up at 4pm when food service has dwindled away.
I haven’t and I’m led to a sad person’s room, presumably away from the big sports screen. It’s actually a pubby little space and I’ve hit the jackpot, except that the naff pop is at a disappointingly low volume.
Sadly my self-imposed abstinence means no Doom Bar, the lone pump, and I spend 10 minutes downloading the App to order a bottle of Heineken 0.0. How many gentlefolk would choose to do that ?
The staff are lovely, but it’s brought to me without glass; do I look like a chav ? At least when I get a glass it’s at least a Stella chalice rather than one of those dreadful Mikkeller glasses they foist on you in Hungry Horses.
Admit it, you’re jealous.