retiredmartin

August 2026. Sheffield.

Part 2 (of 2) from Cluedo Pubs with Walsall Evo, which was one of those days that makes this blogging lark so worthwhile. As a shy 22 year old newly qualified accountant with a stammer I wouldn’t have believed I’d be chatting to such interesting folk every week as I approach middle age.

At 22 I’d just got into Deacon Blue, saw their album (and Danny Wilson’s debut) in the bedroom of a student whose mum had let her Dalkeith bedroom out over the golrious summer of ’87 without telling her to clear the knicker draws first.

Evo was trying to recall his favourite song on the drive through Wigtwizzle and Sheffield’s western moors, something like “There’s a girl, in a big world, with a big smile.”

Oh, this one then;

I am such a pop music show off, as long as “pop” includes only the period ending in 1991 and then restarting about 2021 with “Driver’s License”.

Mrs RM met us at the Blind Monkey, where she had her 3rd pint of Ashover’s Fabrick in 3 days, as part of her sports injury rehabilitation programme.

I seem stuck on the 0.4% Erdinger these days, but what a great glass.

The bus was 19 minutes late, so I made Evo walk into town in the drizzle. He says he likes walking, but people always say that don’t they ?

I thought he’d like to see THAT Ronnie O’Sullivan mural at the bottom of our hill that had prompted the actual BBC News to take someone off the Iran frontline to gauge public opinion.

I mean, literally, at the bottom of our hill, best view from the front of the Aldi towards the snooker club. I think it’s great, as do the Aldi shoppers, but the BBC know to how to get a good hate story these days.

You’ll know what’s coming next; a half (Proteus, great) and a £1 cob for Evo’s train ride home*.

We met three (3) lovely chaps down from Northumberland on a pub crawl round Sheffield, so I compared notes on the Newcastle scene (ugh). I’m sure there’s a new micro in Monkseaton, you know.

The next break from the rain came after a dash through Kelham to the Wellington,

which to be honest might me the pub I’d take visitors to these days, even though the cask isn’t the best (and had nearly all gone today),

as much a museum as a pub. The young folk were playing Kerplunk, which might give Evo an idea for his next board game based pub crawl.

Or not. He was a bit distracted by the BBC final score service in the Shakespeare, waiting and waiting and waiting for the delayed final whistle to signal 3 points for Walsall.

Wait till Walsall get in the Prem and have to endure VAR and goals against you that are punched into the net but are OK because….

Towards the station now, with a detour to see the oldest pub,

and then the dullest.

Not many visitors request a stop in The Howard,

and I’m guessing it wasn’t the art in the Gents,

or the traditional bench seating that drew us there.

Your last pub (Tap apart) on the route from football to station, “a transit pub” and a group of lads were singing one of those iconic football songs that survived woke.

“Boro boys, we are here, visit your galleries and drink your craft beer“. That’s what is sounded like, anyway.

This was my only pint of the day, goodness know why I chose Hobgoblin Gold (NBSS 3+ in old money); duty I expect.

A transit pub for lads is somwhere you’re legally required to put “Acquiesce” by Oasis on the jukebox. The exact opposite of the Rutland Arms, in fact, where Dolly was the order of the day.

The drizzle persisted, so I embraced it with a can of the best UK non-alcoholic stout so far from Nirvana.

A tap on my shoulder, I round, it’s James on his own Sheffield night out. Old and young, we’re not so different.

*_{Evo’s train was delayed, so hopefully he’ll get enough back to pay for his cob.}