retiredmartin

June 2026. Sheffield.

Thursday morning saw a bit of tension in the dining room at Tunbridge Wells’s Russell Hotel, which had kindly found Mrs RM a fan while I was out melting in London.

You’ll remember Mrs RM had ordered the Full English so I could have her artisanal sausage and black pudding (“You DO like black pudding, don’t you dear ?“).

I sensed the lovely staff were immediately suspicious of Mrs RM Damascene conversion to the joys of offal, and she refused, refused dear reader to play along the second morning.

“And I thought you were a Surrendered Wife who did her husband’s bidding“. Obviously not. Anyway, one portion of sausage is plenty, though Stafford Paul may have a different opinion.

Back in Sheffield five hours later I had a gig on home soil at the Art Gallery.

I actually had a ticket to see Nashville nu-folkie Maisy Owen in Canary Wharf for the Tuesday, but it had just been too hot to contemplate the train.

Quite why you’d follow Canary Wharf with Sheffield’s student quarter for your UK tour is an odd one, but Site Gallery gives you three slices of interesting new music for under a tenner and you get to sit on a giant bean bag.

But the interval options don’t appeal,

so I nip across the road to the Rutland Arms,

drawn by reviews of the Elusive/Dark Revolution Farnborough Town FC beer.

It’s prime murk, coping well in the heat (NBSS 4).

The Rutland’s jukebox bans have gone all political, but tonight it’s all ’80s soul.

Kool and the Gang give us “Too Hot” Ladies Night, and the thuddy Bass from 1982 Shalamar shakes the room. That’s bass, not Bass.

When the Rutland sells Draught Bass we’ll know we’ve won.

Back at my gig I succumb to a £3 can of Moretti so I can have an Untappd tick (I’m that shallow);

Maisy Owen really isn’t a can of Moretti sort of a gig.