retiredmartin

April (finally) 2025. Sheffield.

Spring has arrived, and Sheffield’s Peace Gardens look lovely just before the start of the End of the World or whatever’s happening this week.

The city is (still) going through a construction boom. Historic Fargate has been beautifully tidied up, and there’s some expensive new flats towering over Derek Dooley Expressway into Kelham.

But it’s the old pubs that bring the beer tourists to the door.

By law, you must never pass a sign with the word “PUB” on it.

Mrs RM didn’t need much convincing to nip in the Shakespeare for a pint after I assured her there’d be strong crafty keg.

I particularly like the little Shakespeare duck.

She’s so easily attracted to novelty, it’s why she married me, she had a French Martini Pale from Northern Monk.

I went for the beer with a proper beer name.

Oh.

That was £4 I think, and if not as crisp as you might get a few minutes away the beer was certainly NBSS 3 levels in a room that might just be my favourite in Sheffield this week.

The Shakey was quieter than usual, but quality trumps (sorry) quantity. We were joined on the bench by a lady who’d been making the most of the day, sipping her pint of Guinness and port, which is a beer style not even attempted by Thornbridge yet.

Unsuccessfully, she challenged a group of Old Boys to a game of pool, and tried to get the excellent young barman to put on this classic;

“You’re a lovely couple” she said to us. “Do you have heroine ?”.

I was about to tell her that, of course, Lizzy McAlpine Mrs RM was my heroine, but the conversation had already moved on. We had a nice chat, before she moved on, taking a clutch of flowers with her.

We stayed for more Wilde Child, Mrs RM much taken with the Fudge Brownie Stout, and I explored the back rooms that become inaccessible whenever there’s music on.

I mean, what more do you want from a pub interior ?

And won’t someone revive that Greenall’s Mild like they did Wilson’s ?

No ? Oh, OK then.