No idea what happened on the Sunday, as we recovered from the Bath, but by Monday it was all go as Matt came over to give my father-in-law a haircut. No, it’s not MY hair.
In the morning I had to drop Mrs RM’s car (it’s a black one) off for a service at the Pentagon, so I walked back from industrial Sheffield into town,
ALL THE PUBS IN SHEFFIELD BY FOOT No. 25 – Banker’s Draft
This one didn’t open on April 12th with that tiny outside area, and had the upstairs was shut when I nipped in for a breakfast flat white. The return to Spoons we all prayed for isn’t always a rapid one.
I know Americans love seeing British breakfast menus, to compare them with Denny’s and IHOP. You win, Yanks.
Yes, just the small breakfast, and I’d walked off that 460 calories by the time I got home.
And then merrily put them back on at lunchtime at the Riverside in Kelham,
where Mrs RM, Matt and I shared a pitcher of keg Sheffield Pale because we hip. And besides, who on earth drinks cask when it goes above 20 degrees ?
Matt wanted to flick through vinyl, so we headed towards the Moor and the lovely Record Junkee (because we hip), where actually it was me who bought a record, the Julien Baker I’ve been feeling guilty about playing on Spotify these last 2 months.
That was the first LP I’d bought for over a year. I haven’t been to a gig since last March, either, and it was good to see Record Junkee expressing such confidence in the return of live music in cramped upstairs room.
How I’ve missed crumpled gig flyers. Bo Ningen on 7th October, that’s what you need.