retiredmartin

March 2024. Sheffield.

There’s two (2) guaranteed indicators that I’m a teeny bit pi**ed in Sheffield.

An order for an unnecessary Chinese takeaway from Sang Lung, and an inadvisable pint in the Wellington.

Oh dear.

Even worse, I convinced myself what I really needed after Bombay mix and a pork pie was the Welly’s £1 cheese and onion cob,

and that may have been a better call than crispy beef and Singapore Rice, who can tell.

This time, it was the beer that made it impossible to walk past.

Who could resist a London Porter with “wood cask finish” ? I don’t even know what that means ?

But it was gorgeous (NBSS 4).

I haven’t had a beer less than NBSS 4 in the Wellington since COVID, and it’s not a pub I ever warmed to before.

The tat is good,

sometimes great,

but it’s the people who make it, a couple of Old Boys (first gig 1968, cost 13/6) debating the merits of Jethro Tull albums (Broadsword and the Beast his favourite)

over bottles of coke.  Actually, one had a can of coke. What can it mean ?

As so often, it means nothing. But it’s that rambling, pointless, debate that makes pubs so essential, and the Wellington (with or without the £1 cobs) one of the greatest pubs in the world.