You left us on Christmas Day just as we’re about to be kicked out of our new Sheffield local and forced to watch the Queens Speech and eat Long Clawson cheese all afternoon.
In desperation, I scoured the Facebook pages of the nearest GBG pub.
Well, well, as Jimmy Saville used to say. Open till 6. How civilised.
“Fancy a pint of something strong in The Blake, Mrs RM ?”
Now the Blake is rightly famed in Sheffield but she’d doubd it a bit reverentially beery on previous trips (it isn’t).
James lives 2 minutes walk away and had NEVER been in. I despair of kids today I really do. Bless him, he tagged along, across Ruskin Park to the pub at the top of Sheffield’s steepest hill. (Made up) FACT !
I fetched the beers, a cask, a keg one, a pint of La Trappe Tripel.
“Are you sure ? It’s 8%“
” It’s for Mrs RM”
“Oh that’s fine then“
I kid you not, we were lucky to get a seat. 29 in the Blake at 14:51 on 25 December.
It was blooming marvellous, a really mixed crowd creating a jolly atmosphere. The barman joined in our chat about the joys of Sam Smith, or Santa Smith as we call Sir Humphrey, and we had a packet of nuts for Christmas pudding.
I probably shouldn’t have had the can, but it decants beautifully into a glass if cask suds and you can trust me on that, I’m a beer smellier.
No idea what we did the rest of the day, probably watched “Don’t Look Up”, which was brilliant.
Meanwhile in Walkley, someone was celebrating in true style.
What even is that ? And can I get it on draught?