2nd October 2022. Yes ! October !
Mrs RM had heard about an alpaca farm to the west of Sheffield, and having recently put turf down in our garden it seemed a good idea to get an alpaca to tend the grass.
Oh, apparently that’s not how it works.
Anyway, a trip out to the edge of the Peaks and a pint on a Sunday lunchtime, that’s almost normal behaviour.
Mayfield Alpacas charges you £5.50 to visit its alpcas, but their Q & A is very clear on fondling, as so must we be.
£5.50 is a bargain, as you also get access to a cute little animal home with meerkats and creepie crawlies.
But we’d come to see alpacas, and feed them, and decide which one we were taking home.
Archie and Francisco seemed a bot grumpy;
We made our choice, who we called Alfie Baaaland the Alpaca, seen here meeting Baa Baa Toure for the first time. They’re inseparable.
At the exit a small girl came up to me and asked,
“Is.. is the alpaca for your daughter ?”
“No, it’s for me. And to keep Baa Baa company.”
She seemed bemused. Her parents moved her away.
We retired to the Norfolk Arms, a stately looking country pub, packed with Sunday roasters (is that a proper word ?).
Mrs RM clung for dear life to the only unclaimed table while I attempted to take a place at the bar, which is difficult when folk are determined to form a queue.
Quite a lot of handpumps in a non-GBG pub, and the Creme Bearlee was a brave choice.
But a successful one. A cool, rich, complex pint from Congelton’s finest (NBSS 4.5). Such strength in depth in Sheffield’s pubs these days.
Alfie feels at home now, but he’s yet to experience the joys of a pub tick. But that will come.