Never mind Mrs RM’s birthday, mine is today (22 December), make a note to wake up at 57 minutes past 5 and wish me a happy birthday. IT’S A TRADITION, DAMN YOU.
I’m in a place you’ve never been; here’s a pictorial clue.
And on my birthday I plan to travel across a vast expanse of water and end up completing a “county” in a town that starts with “P”. There may be curry.
Last Friday there wasn’t curry, but Mrs RM did have a nice meal in Sheffield with her favourite men. And me.
And a trip to B & Q, after which she dragged me into The Garrison, the motel built into the Hillsborough barracks that is an odd cross between Crossroads motel and a posh wedding venue.
Stretch limos were pulling up and disgorging smartly dressed Sheffield folk for their pre-Christmas meals and a gig by an unconvincing Elton John (played by ex-Forest forward Gary Birtles), we nipped in for a half of Belgian Blue.
I was surprised to see three local beers on the bar,
and more surprised the Blue was GBG standard. It’s quite hard to get duff cask in Sheffield. If a pub can’t sell it, they won’t stock it.
Even though it was her birthday (no, don’t ask) Mrs RM turned down my offer of cake from the sweets trolley, as she was saving herself for tea.
Which came at Stancil’s Closed Shop, a superb example of how to mix quality food and beer in the studenty part of Crookes.
The fog descended, the Closed Shop staff were as cheery as they always are, we nearly all had fish and chips. This is the Walkley Whale (caught in the Don).
Two pints of Stancil’s lovely No. 7, a pudding shared between 5, some inadvisable cocktails, no arguments over the bill, a busy pub.
A perfect evening.