retiredmartin

July 2023. Sheffield.

The sun is back in Sheffield, just in times for Tramlines its annual celebration of middle-aged, middle-class nostalgia. Friday’s headliners are the bloke out of the Verve, Bloc Party, and MYQ Kaplan, who I’m convinced ran accountancy training in the ’80s. And the beer comes from Brew Dog. Oh dear.

Tremendous fringe, though.

Sheffield needs the economic boost of the music now the students have gone home, but there’ll always be a steady flow of pub tourist. I’m not a tourist, I live here, and I can decide to have a break from blogging on a Sunday night and go have a late pint in the Blake and one of the UK’s top views.

So, what’s trade like on a Sunday evening in suburban Sheffield ?

Ticking over nicely, with a new cask of something unpronounceable from Neepsend (perhaps that’s why most regulars ask for the Blonde). The cheery, chatty lady practically forced me to have a taster.

“It’s free beer, innit ?”.

Whatever it was, it’s the one on a purple clip to the right of the Nottingham, it was superbly cool and crisp and full-bodied (NBSS 4+) and the Blake remains as consistent a purveyor of cask as you’ll get.

A succession of blokes approaching the bar were greeted with “Here’s trouble. Bill was swinging from the lampshade last time“.

I can’t imagine anyone causing trouble in the Blake, but I know it’s a favourite of Will so who knows.

I heard a great joke here that Jane will like.

“What do donkeys get at Blackpool for their lunch ?”

“Dunno”

“Half an hour, like everyone else”.

If only they’d put Bass on, the pub would be complete. Then they could move from my Top 100 to my Top 10.

A quick pint, Mrs RM didn’t even know I’d gone out. Then a stumble down Ruskin Park,

and an act of supreme self-restraint to resist the Orval in the Blind Monkey.

See ! It can be done.