Saturday 25th January 2025
Daddy BRAPA's birthday weekend had started amazingly with a 0-3 win at Sheff Utd the previous night, and now, 12 hours later, we find ourselves in Sheffield Tap for an 'enforced' half of Neptune Abyss Oatmeal Stout at 10am. What a life!
I confess that unlike most of you, I'm not a massive fan of the Tap, mainly because I find myself in here on a loud sticky Saturday evening, but when you have the run of the place early on and can explore the back rooms, 'tis a real good place. "Most I've ever enjoyed it" admits Dad .... though we'd ALWAYS choose the Rutland Arms if time allows.
Having nursed our halves, a tram takes us to a place called Halfway. Which isn't halfway, but all of the way, in other words the terminus. In fact the phrase "meet me halfway" isn't about compromise, it is about Killamarsh.
A 25 minute walk to North Derbyshire's awkward newbie, partly busy main road, partly icy country path - I'm paranoid about slipping and aggravating my bum injury which I don't like to talk about but is finally showing signs of improvement.
11:50am when we arrive at our first of five ticks today, ten minutes before opening time but the shutter is partially up and there's a light inside. Promising.
We explore Killamarsh Main Street, bit dull, returning 12:05pm but it's still not open! Dad goes to see if there's a back entrance, very optimistic but I like his style.
But then, the blue haired Deftones tee-shirted heroine who we've walked past three times already, says "you aren't waiting for me to open are you?" I say "yes I am" and she apologises on the basis she never normally has a customer this early!! Micropub mentality right there! I'm in, and Daddy BRAPA soon joins us as she sets up with vigour at the Guzzle Micropub, Killamarsh (2917 / 5402). It couldn't be more basic, with a few large booths, front door now wide-open despite freezing wind like we're in Reading. And this was AFTER she'd asked me "Aren't you hot in your massive coat, hat & scarf?" The porter is decent, and she overhears us discussing last night's game. "Oh don't!" she yelps, explaining she's a Blade who was there last night, front row, so she got rained on for 90 mins as well. I feel bad for her now as she's a kind host, so I let her highlight the GBG as a consolation. Then I give Dad his debut lesson in Uber because despite Killamarsh looking pretty mainline, it has about four buses a day and Woodhouse shouldn't be this hard. And with our host now stood in a hidden corner munching some snacks (there were plenty of Maghull Neptune Beerhouse Thursday echoes about this whole experience), our taxi man Joseph arrives.
Joseph put in a good shift and drops us outside today's second micro. Worth noting he shares a name with my new pub mascot who will be announced on MASCOT DEADLINE DAY (3rd Feb) so watch this space.
Now we're safely back over the border in Yorkshire, although Sheffield is so southern it is practically Derbyshire if I really want to upset 70% of my BRAPA fanbase.
Exact same frontage as last pub? You wouldn't have got this sort of nonsense in the 16th century Dickens London, if he was alive then, but fear not, Oxbow, Woodhouse, Sheffield (2918 / 5403) is more to my taste because they've actually done more with it internally to give the semblance of a homely pub atmosphere. And the barmaid calls me 'duck' , another Derbys tell-tale sign. Only a really badly smelling dog (he has no nose) threatened to bring it into disrepute. I swear dog owners must get nose-blind, I couldn't cope with it 24/7. I love an old skool bitter, but this bitter was too bitter, left the mouth so dry - it is by Neepsend. I wonder if they're doing a Burns night special called Neeps(end) and Tatties, missed opportunity if not. Solid micro.
Woodhouse has a train, but is uphill and only hourly, so we have a quick march on our hands, bad news for my poor bum. The three carriage L**ds bound Northern crapper is absolutely packed, and following on from Killmarash's lack of public transport, today was the kind of travel day which helps me understand why southerners think we're all turnip chomping simpletons up here - the divide is real!
We hop off in Sheffield proper with the 24 hr party people, Human League, Sean Bean, Mel Sterland and Jarvis Cocker for the first of three ticks, starting with the furthest, Sheffield is a hilly, stretched out, tatty city innit? Great for beer and pubs, 'characterful' if you squint but not the kindest place to go n get a result on foot.
But the South Yorkshire finishing line was so close, I could smell it. And talking of smelling .....
We enter to the chaos of some sort of 'Furry Convention' at the Perch, Sheffield (2919 / 5404) and I'm just relieved we are let in, and it isn't a private function, as it has all the hallmarks. The remnants of some quiz celebrating a 10th anniversary is up on a plasma, everyone is huddled around with party hats cheering, and Mr Wolf seems to be presiding over things. I'm not up to speed on 'furry' culture, but the place stank to high heaven and I can only shudder to think what the inside of those costumes must be like. We order two pints of Perch's palest brew - Dad enjoys his, but too watery for my blood. The GBG describes this place as 'chic' ... industrial and shabby yes, Le Freak I couldn't possibly comment, but chic is a stretch. Dad feels magnanimous enough to comment on how nice it is to see so many young people in a social setting enjoying a public space, like wot pub nature intended. True dat! Though just at that precise moment, an old dude struggles to get the toilet cubicle locked because his fox tail is so bushy.
"Ee by gum, I need a long shower in disinfectant after that!" comments Dad back outside in the street talking large gulps of fresh air. True dat too. Today marks his last pub outing as a 77 year old, and he's getting sager by the day.
I nearly walked past our next pub because I thought it was a random Irish bar .....
But on closer inspection, it does say Grapes, Sheffield (2920 / 5405) and I'm happy because any time you get to walk underneath a Tetley's lantern, it bodes well for the pub ahead. And this was an ornate jewel - all the good stuff you expect from a CAMRA historic interior pub, central corridor, rooms dotted about, tasty tiling, marvellous mirrors, even yer archetypal creaky landlady. Before you ask your usual annoying question of 'corr Si, how have ya not been 'ere before?' it is worth noting this is its first GBG appearance since 2001. I was barely born then. And with just the one ale on in the famous beer city of Sheffield, it did seem a random entry in that respect. Not that I was complaining, places like this is why we pub. We settle down in a JFK themed lounge (a bit like in Alan Partridge when that superfan stalker has Alan posters all over his bedroom walls). Our plan now was, sit behind the door, to smuggle our runny scotch eggs, but we've set a trend and soon a giant gang of lads wander in, having just attempted to 'split the G' at the bar, apart from the one with the Matt Crooks hair who is on the Carling - respect! We wonder about instead buying the two remaining rolls on the bar, but they look stale A.F. , like they've been sat there all week.... this isn't Black Country freshly made cob territory, so we decide to hold on. Dad eats his on the walk to our final tick, Pub of the day, make no mistake! Reminds me slightly of a less flouncy York Golden Ball.
And I'm pleased to report that the day ends on a high too in my final South Yorkshire tick of the 2024/25 season.....
A light, bright and airy modern funkster, but against the odds I thought the Old Shoe, Sheffield (2921 / 5406) was a real quality addition, a lot more GBGable that the Grapes you'd have to admit with a heavy heart. No sign of Dryanuary going down in Sheffield in 2025, and good, everywhere was blimmin' packed and Dad's done magic to find us a (relatively) spacious spot whilst I get the beers in. Black Forest Porter from Hampshire, wherever the hell that is. Coffee, oak, fruity and bittersweet were just some of the words that the menu had written on it. Tasted like Guinness with a Strongbow Dark Fruits top me, so simmer down beer nerds. Drink of the day? There's two lads playing Catastrophe next to us, think Jenga with cats instead of boring blocks, I bought it for my sister Xmas 2022, she never mentioned it again. A Bernard (not Daddy BRAPA this time) notes the trousers tucked inside socks - Sheffield fashions or Catastrophe cheating? Secret cat in sock? You decide. I'd wear those trainers though.
Sheffield to York is a weirdly short journey for a BRAPA Saturday, and neither of us even wanted any more beer so it was cuppa and biscuit at mine whilst watching some vintage 2007/08 Hull City.
An early finish was probably just as well, as the following day we had a family curry for Part III of Dad's birthday weekend. Incredible.
See you all on Friday for the January month end review.
Si
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