retiredmartin

September 2026. Barnsley.

My visit to Greater Barnsley, which will shortly end in disaster, had both cultural and cask objectives.

Nailmakers Brewery had opened a second tap in Barnsley’s shiny shopping centre, sensibly labelling it “1” to distinguish it from their first bar, which itself was called something to do with cows once. It’s a tough life being a pub ticker, as BRAPA will shortly find out.

Nailmakers doesn’t have the usual accoutrements of Proper Pubs, like a piece of wood dangling from the wall and a mobility scooter, so I walk past it twice as Google Maps is bewildered and wants me to go in Coffee Boy, whose customers eye me suspiciously (and with good reason).

At the bar, panic ensues, as the WiFi is down and the till won’t work, like in Subterranean Homesick Blues.

I offer to pay in His Majesty’s coinage, but it’s not that sort of pub, so I have to wait 10 minutes, putting my rail connection at jeopardy. At least I have the deep joy of Boston’s “More than a feeling” while waiting.

When the internet returns, I get a sensational pint of their stout for £3.70, which is a bargain.

Look how skilfully I split the Anvil…

Google Maps tells me my train leaves in 7 minutes, the walk to the station will take 8, and my pint is half full (or half empty for the pessimists). You do the math.