retiredmartin

October 2023. Halifax.

A night in the craft beer capital of, well, the world I guess, but I was there for a gig of traditional Irish music in a medieval minster because I’m not a hipster.

I’d have taken the campervan and saved £65, but Mrs RM wanted to come along so I booked the Shears Inn, tucked away up cobbled streets behind the mills.

Honestly, how could you resist pub B & B (without the B) in a location like this;

in an address like “Paris Gate, Boys Lane”.

Ancient, too,

though of course you’ll know, if not personally remember, 1664 as the birthplace of this classic beer;

I rather admired the very clear signage at the bar while we waited to be shown up the slippery land to our room;

and was delighted to find a well-appointed, clean, spacious room with gorgeous views to the hills/

Mrs RM insisted, insisted I tell you, we have a pint before hitting the craft bars, and not for the first time she was right to insist. Even if it was the fudge brownie she was really after.

The Shears may have dipped out of the Guide of late, but the Boltmaker was 3.5, the Landlord a 4, the fudge brownie an NFBSS 4.5.

But the pub was even better than the beer, a gorgeous mix of age and sex at 5pm, with an unfussy food trade and that buzz you get when friends meet up.

“I’m alright, Sheila, are YOU”.

I never found out but I bet she was after that fudge cake.

And no pub that plays Gloria Brannigan’s classic is less than an 8/10.

Sheila’s hip shake as “Gloria” started was something that needed to see to believe.