retiredmartin

May 2024. Sheffield.

You might think from recent posts complaining about early calling of last orders and unfinished pints being cleared that I’ve got the grump on with pubs, but nothing could be further from the truth.

Beer and banter in boozers has been as bountiful as ever this year, and my traditional inability to avoid being able to resist the lure of a half of Kipa at the Wellington at Base Camp on the walk up the hill home is always rewarded with a fresh perspective on this wonderful pub.

I’ve rather made a habit of heading left in recent times, to join the more mature groups of boys dissecting Jethro Tull albums (not literally, they’re worth £25+ in good condition).

But this time I headed right to join the more cerebral beer sippers to the right. Some excellent reading material.

I’d always found this room a bit too “CAMRA” if I’m honest, too quiet and worthy. On my first post-Covid visit with Mrs RM I wrote;

“A symphony in brown” is what I call pubs like the Welly. If Pub Curmudgeon did a “Guide to Pubs to Read Books in” this would be in the Top 37, just above the Free Press.

I quite like that.

But today, on Bank Holiday Sunday evening, it was filling up with actual couples and young folk headed for the garden, a demographic I’ve not really noticed in the Welly.

I suddenly needed to stay, they even had Two by Two on keg. Hey, they still do the sandwiches for a quid.

“Cheese and onion cob (it’s a cob) and cheese and onion crisps, the classic combo !” said a publican clearly in awe of my food matching. He was less impressed with my complete inability to add up the pound coins in my purse to make the £2. If it had been £3.88 like in a proper pub I’d have had no problem.

Well, I made a huge mess. But it was worth it to see young folk demonstrating how you get served at the bar.

Look ! No vertical queues !!