I made the in-laws a fourteen (14) day itinerary (map, bus route, prices, pub recommendations) for their visit. This was the cover map;
Amazingly, they did virtually of my suggestions, except Chatsworth House which wanted a ludicrous £14 for the privilege of observing folk in pashminas admiring water features. My respect for my in-laws grew.
Over breakfast in the Rawson Spring last Thursday we added a trip.
“Let’s go to Meadowhall” I enthused. “You can go free on t’tram, hear northern accents, see the steelworks and buy whippet food in the shops“.
It wasn’t a successful trip.
For a start, the tram takes you on the dullest route, well away from Atlas, Greenland and the Forgemasters.
Once deposited at the Interchange, it’s a long and arduous journey to the entrance at M & S where the escalator doesn’t work.
And finally, there is NOTHING they need at the shops, bar the joy of seeing economic activity.
There is certainly nothing in life I want now that you can hold, apart from a pint and a pie, and Meadowhall is my idea of Hell. With the mask restricting my vision, folks with phones walking into me, and an impossible network on arrows and yellow and red tape, I needed to escape after five minutes.
So I headed for the Spoons.
ALL THE PUBS IN SHEFFIELD ON FOOT (& TRAM) No. 27 – The Steel Foundry, Meadowhall
It was heaving. In fact, I think I got the last table outside by the river, where I ordered a pint of Acorn Old Moor Porter to Table 304.
Fifteen minutes later (getting quicker, it was 35 minutes at the Francis Newton ), a pint came out, “Table 304 ?” was called, and was rejected by the table behind me in the way you might reject a turnip.
Hang on, that looks like mine. Doh, can’t read felt-tipped table numbers upside down, can I ?
Mask applied, in I rush, chasing down the server (“That’s my pint !, that’s my pint !”). Table service, huh ?
Looks good, lovely head, bit watery (NBSS 3). GBG certainty anywhere in Scotland, I guess.
I messaged Mrs RM to join me, but they’d already left after about 15 minutes of hell.
SEE ALSO : IKEA, DIVORCE