Bonus Blog, Day 20 – Coach & Horses

By Rob

As both Andy and I are extraordinarily busy people, we sometimes find that we don’t write these blog posts as regularly as we perhaps should. With that in mind, writing a bonus blog that doesn’t officially count as a Pubquest visit seems like an odd thing to do. However, trust me when I say that we never make additional work for ourselves without good reason.

The first thing to say is that the pub in question is so close to the Sheffield border that few people would really consider it to be anything other than a Sheffield pub, despite the fact that it’s actually located in the town of Dronfield. To make matters more confusing, the pub is situated on Sheffield Road and sits next-door to the stadium of the oldest football club in the world: Sheffield FC.

The second thing to note is that this was the first pub we visited as part of a fantastic multi-pub event – the rest of the pubs being solidly within the Steel City. In order to introduce this whole sequence properly, we will need to tell the tale of the Coach & Horses.

The Three Valleys Beer Festival takes place every summer around the Sheffield-Dronfield borderlands. The festival is a thoroughly brilliant event in which a number of real ale pubs offer music, food and entertainment to the beer-swigging masses. A free bus service runs throughout the day, ferrying the merrymakers from one venue to the next, making it easy to hop between bars and barbecues.

It had already been confirmed that my parents would be going, as well as my aunt and uncle. In addition, a group of my dad’s old university mates were travelling up north for a Class of 1806 reunion (truth be told I’m not sure what year he left university – it could have been earlier). Keen to meet his friends and spend some time with the family, I happily accepted their invitation to come along.

But wait – an event that involves drinking a range of beers, with a once-a-year free bus service that would shuttle us between a number of hard-to-reach pubs? Let’s be honest: if I hadn’t invited Andy, I don’t think I could have forgiven myself.

The Coach & Horses pub (centre-left) as seen during a match at the Coach & Horses Ground

We arrived at the pub, said hello to my family and then introduced ourselves to my dad’s friends. Having not seen each other in a very long time, they had already made their way through a not inconsiderable volume of alcohol by the time we showed up, and they were more than happy to be joined by two new arrivals.

Straight away we were struck by how homely the pub was. On a hot summer’s day such as this one, the doors were flung open and people spilled out into the beer garden, which hosted a barbecue and live music. Looking around the cosy interior, it was obvious that the place would be even better on a cold winter’s night.

Andy headed to the bar while I listened to embarrassing stories about my father’s younger years, the tales deriving mostly from his best friend Steve – an extremely pleasant man in an extremely floral shirt. Relaxing by the fireplace, I knew Andy would make an informed beer choice and return with an enjoyable pint. We were in a Thornbridge pub, so I was bound to be happy with whatever he bought.

Minutes later, Andy materialised with two pints of Ruin. I listened with fascination as he described the beer to me: a botanical pale ale brewed with kafir lime leaves, orange peel, lavender, rosemary, yarrow, red rose petals and juniper berries. My mouth watered at the sound of it. As I lifted the glass up to my lips, it was as if I could already taste the mixture of fruits upon my tongue. I sipped at the amber nectar and….

…it tasted like someone had just emptied an entire Airwick room freshener into my throat. As the rancid perfume trickled into my convulsing stomach, I knew instantly that this was the worst thing I had drank on Pubquest thus far. The only thing stopping Ruin from making the top of that yet-to-be-drafted list of disgusting beers was the fact that we’d drank it in a pub that was, technically, outside of Sheffield and therefore not on the Pubquest radar. I’m usually a huge fan of the Thornbridge brewery, but this particular concoction was absolutely, unequivocally awful.

We quickly realised that, as this pub wasn’t part of Pubquest proper, we weren’t bound by the usual ridiculous rules that dictate our drink choice. Gleefully ditching the Ruin, which was eight times more florid than Steve’s shirt and about a thousand times less tasteful, we sipped our way through some thoroughly deserved lager.

Now, one thing I should have perhaps pointed out earlier in this post is that my dad was, at this time, confined to a wheelchair. A few weeks earlier he had rather badly broken his ankle and so his movements were constantly supported by either crutches or a chair. On this day he had opted for the chair. As such, everyone piled onto the bus to head over to the next pub while me, Andy and my dad waited for my ever-generous girlfriend to arrive in her car and transport us – and in particular my temporarily crippled father – to the next pub.

The only problem was that the carpark was at the top of a short, but cruelly steep hill. I therefore found myself faced with the unenviable task of pushing my father’s wheelchair up the incline and towards the waiting car. This wouldn’t have been a problem, but for the fact that my dad was, of course, in the wheelchair at the time. It’s also worth noting that my beloved forebear is considerably more heavyset than I. He was also substantially more intoxicated.

This resulted in me desperately pushing my dad, who was cheering and hooting with laughter, up a mercilessly steep concrete slope. About halfway up the path I panicked as my feet started to give way, slipping on the gravel underfoot, as fifty-or-so wildly amused onlookers roared their encouragement. What they didn’t realise was that, as the Earth’s gravitational pull began to defeat my own failing efforts, I was in very real danger of seeing my father roll back down the hill and straight into the busy road at the bottom.

Andy, thank Christ, noticed that the unquestionably hilarious scene before him was about to turn into a darkly comic tragedy. He came jogging over and, between us, we deposited the provisionally immobilised patriarch at the side of the waiting car.

With disaster averted (could you imagine the headlines?) we continued with the festival.

Pub: Coach & Horses (Sheffield Road, Dronfield, S18 2GD)
Rating: 9/10
Pint: Ruin
Brewery: Thornbridge Brewery (Bakewell)

NEXT UP: Messy burgers, at The Castle Inn...