I’m making decent progress towards the GBG, a dozen new ticks a week is typical, but I keep being distracted by Sheffield.

And after a mucked up attempt to complete Sheffield with BRAPA this month, in which I left Simon in the care of more experienced Pub Men, I was feeling miffed I’d missed the Ale Club when I saw this.

That looks great, doesn’t it ? Back in 2019 when I ticked it, “James thought it nicely done, and he’s a retail expert after a summer in Pizza Hut”. I couldn’t remember it at all, and it was only 6 months before the Lockdown. Blimey.

So, like Jack in Lost, I had to go back. On foot.


Oh, that one. Sister pub to the one out west I did the other week. The one I probably got mixed up with Ale Society or something. By the end of the year I hope to be able to tell the Sheffield micros apart.

Oh well, in we go.

Oh look, there’s that sign about petting I noted last time, moved out of the loos. See, I’m still perceptive.

Well, that’s a nice little beer board, isn’t it ? Shame there’s only one other customer (who I find out is called Johnny) to enjoy it (and he’s drinking lager).

Yes, it’s Plum Porter, decent, if lacking that last inch (centimetre) of crispness (NBSS 3). How DO you measure crispness ?

Crumpsall Johnny at the bar is telling the young barman that it’s his birthday, and giving me his own life story which gets a bit edgy when I pin him down on his claim to have lived “down south”, but I find him more entertaining than irritating.

A couple come in, chap in 20s, older woman, and I cannot work out their relationship. Mum and undergrad, works colleagues, a date ? Simon would have known, he’s a man of the world.

I love that leather jacket” says Johnny. “THANK you” says the lady, perplexed.

Why don’t you have one of those REAL ALES ?” she asks bloke, but they end up with identical cans of cider from the fridge, which they then sip over the course of 90 minutes of idle chat.

Some folk study insects, other study human behaviour, I guess.

I have a second pint, the second one pulled in the two hours I’m there, another NBSS 3 for the Anthology Pale, and realise why most micros don’t bother opening at all till Thursday (if you’re lucky).

The barman, who’s listened politely to Johnny for over an hour now, asks me to sample the new barrel of Brew Foundation, the house beer, which I’d actually returned as “end of barrel, mate” earlier. I should feel personally affronted, but I both accept the taste and then order a half, decanted expertly into my pint class. It’s the beer of an inadvisable afternoon.

Two and a half pints, zero ticks. Amateur drinking, but fun.

6 thoughts on “IN DA CLUB (ECCLESALL ROAD)

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