retiredmartin

May 2024. Sheffield.

Sunday brought a (flying) visit from the Pubmeister, and record crowds had gathered on the streets around the station that Bank Holiday weekend to cheer Duncan on.

Or perhaps they were celebrating the survival of Wednesday/relegation of United. Whatever, I’d never seen Sheffield so busy; it’s a city that takes its New Year fireworks and Bank Holiday over-indulgence very seriously. Manchester was packed that weekend, but that was almost all hen parties; Sheffield was just mates out on the razz.

With half an hour till Duncan’s flying visit I had time to nip in the Lord Nelson in the industrial area of the centre just below the Moor Market. Note the Art Deco tyre shop behind the pub.

One of, perhaps surprisingly, few non-beer focused locals pubs in central Sheffield, but still gorgeous in its way. Very Sneinton, I reckoned.

I enter to a Bank Holiday soundtrack;

and find a pub packed with regulars of all ages, none of whom are too out of it as they kindly usher me to the bar. I’ve rarely met more polite folk and I think that bears saying.

A bit of an Abbeydale takeover,

but the Bradfield Pale seems popular so I have that.

And at £3.60 it’s a good value, tasty and well presented local pint (NBSS 3), though it goes down rather too quickly.

Liverpool v Spurs plays out to a manic conclusion, the ladies in the side room sing along to “Come On Eileen“, and I realise why pubs like this are so much better than brewery tap rooms (sorry, not sorry).

And then they put this one on;

a it’s 1985 and I’m 20 again, marvelling at how Feargal (whatever happened to him ?) had taken a Maria McKee throwaway to Number 1. I brushed a tear away, and headed off to meet Duncan.