Just as I was getting to love the railways, they stopped running.
Despite all the gripes folk have, I’ve had a pretty good service from Sheffield, apart from all the pricing anomalies.
A lot of travel for one tick, like the hour to Granvilles in Horsforth, one of those towns that could sit under “H” in the Guide or “L” for Leeds. Richard used to explain how a distant own (like Wetherby) could be part of a city, but I never understood it (see also : Stony Stratford in Milton Keynes).
The Wiki entry for Horsforth, a town of nearly 20,000, is one of the most boring I’ve ever read, and it’s therefore entirely appropriate that the great James Milner was born here. I once stood in a lift with James Milner (in the Beetham Tower) and he didn’t ask me a single thing about pubs.
It’s a solid, stone built town,
over which fly planes at 30 second interval. Planespotting is the Number 1 activity here.
It’s the Marple or Boston Spa of the, er, north. Quite a smart main shopping street packed with bistros and beauticians and bridal shops,
but no Beer Guide entries for a while, till Granvilles.
It looks the sort of place where IT folk working from home come for gin,
but the beer board (it’s actually called “beer board”) is impressively long, and the cheery young man explains how to order by numbers or something.
“Do you want to pay as you go along ?” he asks, oblivious to the fact a bloke as old as me will walk out without paying if he runs a tab. I’ve never run a tab for beer.
And then he puts the Brazil v Croatia game on the telly for me while I enjoy a cool, rich, chewy Rat Gateaux which is hard going but also superb.
No, it really is. And the pub is a classy affair, with the eclectic soundtrack playing at just the right volume.
And anywhere with a handpump for a door handle is OK with me.
Back in Sheffield I catch the extra time in Brazil v Croatia, and somehow resist the 12.8% and 13% craft kegs in the Crow.
James Milner would have picked the Steady Rolling Man.