retiredmartin

August 2026. Sheffield.

Nearly six (6) years in Sheffield now, and there’s still several dozen pubs I’ve still to visit, including this one a mere 7 minutes walk from my front door;

Sadly, he Rose has been closed a year now, and I feel guilty I never popped in, having stood outside during Lockdown mouthing “Open the pubs !“.

It’s the sort of pub where they play Billy Ocean’s “Red Light Spells Danger“. If you know, you know.

Another pub that probably doesn’t play “When The Going Gets Tough” is down the hill in Malin Bridge, the end of the tram line and the head of the Rivelin Valley.

What brought me to the friendly, multi-levelled Loxley Sports Bar & Grill (aka Champs) that Tuesday night, just before the families started arriving for their pre-League Cup grub ?

Entry via the back door for this bar on a hill.

Down those steps past The Stig is the front door, which you MUST NOT use.

As I suspected.

“Do you have real ale anymore ?” I ask, doing the campaigning work.

“No, it didn’t sell“. Oh well, you gave it a go, perhaps you should have put on something like an independent barrel aged imperial sour, rather than nasty Burton-brewed Bass, I guess.

The Heinken 0.0 was also off, so I had my first pint of Murphy’s for 30 years, sitting in a personal booth watching tennis on silent while a nu-Country soundtrack played.

£4.65 for Murphy’s, brewed in Tadcaster specifically to annoy the provenance purists. It was thoroughly enjoyable, if barely distinguishable from Guinness.

Not a patch on Beamish, mind.