August 2026. Sheffield.
The rain returned to Sheffield today. I’d forgotten the joy of a good soaking.
It came in quite a rush, heading down the hills to the Don, and tonight the interweb is full of pics of water rushing through Kelham Island. I don’t think the water will quite reach the levels of 2007, never mind 1864.
That’s the Fat Cat, once the most famous pub in Sheffield, and at times the UK, a pub that kickstarted the rejuvenation of Kelham Island in the ’80s and ends with these eco-properties popping up opposite.
We might have bought one of the Kelham flats in 2020, if they’s been half the price and come with a space for our campervan; it would have saved me a lot of hassle about the garden.
The Cat has dipped a bit in our league table of Sheffield pubs, losing both the brewery and the bargain pie and pea lunches since COVID.
But it was heaving when I popped down and nabbed a table in the bar, folk of all ages dressed up for a Big Saturday Night Out, getting in the way of my photos of hand pumps.
Yes, there’s a house beer for the Fat Cat; Neepsend’s pale coincidentally the same strength as Pale Rider (no doubt Will can enlighten us), and it was really good, a crisp, chewy marvel.
So, the quality isn’t the Fat Cat’s issue, though most of the trade (entirely groups) seemed to be on Budvar or sharing bottles of Prosecco.
And the pork pie wasn’t bad, either. But it’ll never replace these;
retiredmartin 