retiredmartin

March 2026. Nottingham.

Gig night in Nottingham, a first pint in the Olde Trip in years,

and I would have had tea in another contender for the “Oldest pub” title,

but the Bell looked a bit scruffy and unloved, so the Joseph Else, my go-to Notts Spoons, gets my business.

Yes, yes, it’s non-acoholic Punk with my Korean chicken bowl. Should have had one of the Festival beers,

but adding one of those to your meal deal when they’re actually cheaper than the alcohol-free beers is daft economics, as Mudgie would have explained.

Nottingham is a hard city to love, away from the castle there’s little to excite you in the chain-driven centre, but the trams are shiny,

and the Rescue Rooms is a lovely little gig alternative to venerable Rock City next door. First time here since Jeff Rosenstock in COVID times, when £5 cans of Berliner were the default.

Now I tried to stick to my almost dry day plan,

and find the Mash Gang impressive but deeply unloveable.

Happily, Leith Ross (“non-binary, transgender and queer” says Wiki) is both impressive and loveable, particularly on the extended live version of the title track of her album, No. 2 in RM’s Chart of 2025.

I have no idea what it means, but anything that can have a 61 year old bloke in a “sea of gays”* shouting “Flowers, flowers, flowers” must be doing something right.

*her description, not mine !