The last day of the in-laws’ fourteen (14) day stay, and as promised the Kelham Island pub.
Kelham is an essential stop on any tourist’s trip, not just for the 37 varieties of pale beer but also to see proper industrial heritage. Look at that “&”.
People still seem surprised we chose to move to Sheffield, asking the oh-so-predictable “Do you have family there ?” or “Are you running away from the law ?”.
Sometimes we politely tell them how we used to bring the lads up to Sheffield or Barnsley or Wakefield for the weekend, and take them to industrial social history museums where they could press buttons and pretend to be Bessemer engines.
It’s more than a decade since we last visited, but I’m delighted to say the Kelham is still a wonder, full of gorgeous noisy machines, gorgeous fonts, those recreated 19th century streets with tins of toffees, and random tin men.
The father-in-law, a civil engineer, was a bit entranced by it all, and dawdled by the saws so much I thought we might not get a seat in the Fat Cat. I hurried him through the transport section through to the big green engine that goes “Whoosh“.
The mark of a great museum is that you spend exactly an hour in it and feel you haven’t wasted a second. In fact the only thing it lacks is a section on Sheffield’s craft breweries and a soft play section (currently closed) for adults.
11:58. I headed for the pub, turning back in despair to see the in-laws fussing over a ringing phone.
NEVER let your trip to a pub be interrupted by a ringing phone.