retiredmartin

September 2024. Mosborough. Sheffield.

As a podgy schoolboy version of Retired Martin I actually stayed at a Suffolk caravan site called “Cakes and Ale” in the late ’70s, on the old RAF Leiston site a couple of miles from Sizewell B, a childhood that may explain a lot about me.

Mosborough is no Leiston, far too hilly, but feels a similar size, though Wiki is very coy about its actual population.

Sadly, despite the generous tourist info board at the bus stop,

I failed to achieve much actual Mozzy (as the local youth call it) tourism, so I’ll have to go back to review the church.

The otherwise impeccable What Pub doesn’t actually acknowledge the existence of “Mosborough“, insisting on dropping that second “o” in some sort of Youlgreave/Youlgrave alternative spelling strop.

Whatever, this feels a solid, slightly more affluent Sheffield suburb as you creep towards Derbyshire,

the sort of place where folk can afford to get married and eat cake.

Which is what I was forced to do now as it transpires the only chippy in town closed at 13:30.

Half past one ! Bloomin’ micros.

Craftworks is a rare east Sheff GBG contender (is it in GBG 25 ? No idea),

very much of the smart gin, coffee and live music variety favoured in Clitheroe or Chorley.

“Have you got cake ?” I ask, a defeated man after 20 hours of starvation.

“We’ve got Blondie cake, we’ve got Guinness ca“.

“Blondie ! Blondie !“.

I take the table free until 4,

and devour something sticky with marshmallow bits (NSSWMBSS 4.5). No idea where the “Blondie” comes from.

The Abbeydale house beer (Deception, I guess), is good enough. Immaculately served, tasty and chewy is not quite cool and crisp enough (NBSS 3+).

The main trade comes from “ladies who share a bottle of wine“, which is fine by me.

Mrs RM would have loved it; they even had those paddle boards for thirds she loves.