retiredmartin

April 2026. Sheffield.

I did get back from Retford, eventually, and arriving in Sheffield at 10 to 5 gave me a rare chance of a seat and tea with Mrs RM in the Rutland.

I gave my dearest an hour’s notice, so she’d only be half an hour late, and picked the seat closest to the jukebox so I could be deafened by the 1980 heavy metal choices.

Someone mentioned that no-one actually puts money in the jukebox, so you’ll get Bucks Fizz rotated with Box Tops, but the leather jackets and NWOBHM soundtrack suggested a leather jacketed takeover.

A nice easy 6.2% ESB while I wait.

Tasty but a tad thin, if I’m honest (3+), but I was really here for what in the past has been the best pub food, anywhere.

Perhaps it seemed a bit more pub grub tonight; loaded chips, burgers, sandwiches. Ballast, in fact.

Fearing an early night for the chef on Bank Holiday Monday, or the one I wanted running out.

So I ordered for Mrs RM, who turns up as Judas Priest gives way to Iron Maiden, and finds her braised beef cheek arriving just as she sits down and says “Where’s my beer ?”.

Actually, she wants my burger. In cricket, we’d call it a good toss to lose. I chose the burger, but the beef cheek on chips is as good as it gets.

We share the inevitable 8% DIPA,

and leave as someone put on “She Sells Sanctuary” for a SECOND time.