Pub 90, Day 34 – The Francis Newton

By Rob

The final stop of the night was my local Wetherspoons, The Francis Newton. We’d had good food at the The Psalter, fine ale at the The Stag's Head, and now it was time for something a little cheap ‘n’ cheerful.

If you’ve been to a Wetherspoons before, you already know what it served, who the regulars were, and how much it costs. If you haven’t been to a Wetherspoons before: all-sorts, catch-all, and fuck-all.

That being said, some ‘Spoons are nicer than others, and on balance, the Francis Newton ranks among the better. The clientele is younger and more student-esque than that of The Benjamin Huntsman, The Bankers Draft, or elsewhere (I’ll let you decide if this is a plus).

In addition, the surroundings are rather fetching. The current building was once Broombank House – the family home of a local, wealthy cutlery manufacturer.

His name? You guessed it – Old Franky Newton.

Mr Newton owned the Portobello Works (a reasonably short journey from his fancy, Georgian-style residence) and was elected Sheffield’s Master Cutler in 1844.

Turns out there’s a fork load of money in cutlery.

More recently, this pub was the sight of an embarrassing, backfiring prank. You see, some time after our official visit, I was there drinking with a group of my postgrad friends. Sitting across the way, we spied the President of our students' union. At the same time, I was made aware of Wetherspoons’ mobile app, which lets you order drinks for any table in the pub, from any location.

"Wouldn’t it be funny," me and my friend Sam said, "to get loads of milk sent to his table?"

We decided that it would be, despite the fact that it was patently blatantly demonstrably obviously not that funny. At all.

Nevertheless, we went ahead.

Except that we couldn’t work the app properly, and accidently entered our own table number, instead of his.

So, not only was it a shit prank, but we didn’t even execute it correctly.

Ignorant of our shambolic efforts, we sat watching his table, eagerly awaiting the moment when Mr President would be presented with several pints of milk, at which point the whole pub would presumably erupt in hysterics and we’d be carried over the shoulders of the appreciative crowd, as they sprayed celebratory champagne into the air. 

A feat they'd talk about for months afterwards. The two hilarious heroes. Masters of comedy. Pranksters of legend.

Instead, the waiter breezed straight past the intended location, deposited the tray of drinks onto our table, and looked at us with a perfectly justifiable mixture of bemusement and disdain.

Nobody else even glanced twice.

I learned three things that day: I’m not a natural prankster; intelligence is not a prerequisite for doing a PhD; and I quite like milk.

Pub: The Francis Newton
(7 Clarkehouse Road, S10 2LA)

Rating: 7/10

Pint: Devils Backbone American IPA

Brewery: Devils Backbone Brewing Company (based in Roseland, USA)

NEXT UP: Ten out of ten, at the Rutland Arms...

Pub 89, Day 34 – The Stags Head

That’s right folks, we enjoy shirking our responsibilities so much that we’ve offloaded yet another blog onto one of our guests. Sit back and enjoy an insightful post, from a young woman whose work has been called ‘satisfactory’ by teachers and peers alike. Returning after her triumphant debut, I hand you over to the incomparable Reanna.

***

By Reanna

After the roaring success that was my first guest blog, it is no surprise to anyone that the boys have begged me to return. I consider myself quite the philanthropist, and so I quickly agreed…

…The evening was a cold one. Andrew and Robert had somehow convinced a few of us to accompany them on this branch of their Pubquest journey and so, with coats buttoned and scarves tied, our group left the warm confines of the Psalter and hurried along to The Stags Head. The walk was a pleasant one, for Christmas was almost upon us and our journey was illuminated by LED lights shining from every window. 

Upon our arrival I was pleased to see that The Stags Head, which is part of the Thornbridge Brewery chain, had all the charm and character of a traditional country pub. The walls were adorned with dark wood panelling and several pictures, while antlers and such had been hung up around the room. It is not a large pub, with one main room that stretches around a classic wooden bar. To the side of this room is a conservatory-like extension with table seating. The place was fairly busy, although the crowd seemed to be made up mostly of regulars, who all stared at us upon arrival, as though we had just broken into their home.

We ordered our drinks and, although the service was a little slow (due to there being only one barman on), it was friendly enough and the range of drinks was perfectly acceptable. Robert and Andrew got themselves a pint of Myrissty, which is described by Thornbridge Brewery as a winter ale, and I (for this was before my pallet would be mature enough to appreciate the fine flavours of real ale) bought a bottle of fruit cider. Our drinks in hand, we secluded ourselves in the corner of the conservatory, at a table far away from the death-glares that were inevitable when a group of youths enter a pub frequented by old men.

As I learnt on my first exposé, I am not entitled to award any of the pubs a rating. No, instead I must do all the work of writing their blog for them, only for the boys to then swoop in at the end with their ‘official Pubquest score’. So all I will say is that, overall, The Stags Head is a charming, traditional pub: full of character with a good selection of drinks at a slightly higher-than-average price. Its location is pleasant, nestled between Broomhill and Sharrowvale. The atmosphere, while slightly unwelcoming on that night, was lively enough. Any further evaluations, I shall leave to Andrew and Robert…

***

The wise old seers of Pubquest have sat in council and have passed judgement. Let it be known that from henceforth, the Stag shall carry a rating of seven and a half.

And praise be to Reanna for taking less than 36 moons to pen this blog.

Pub: The Stags Head (15 Psalter Lane, S11 8YN)

Rating: 7.5/10

Pint: Myrissty

Brewery: Thornbridge Brewery (Bakewell)

NEXT UP: Backfiring pranks, at The Francis Newton...

Pub 88, Day 34 – The Psalter

By Andy

What a waste of time.

In between our trip to The Psalter and me writing this blog, the pub shut. Permanently.

This renders our visit completely pointless, as it takes us no closer to 'completing the set'.

Even more infuriatingly, because we actually attended, we feel immense pressure to write a blog regardless, lest our readers miss out on a chapter of our journey.

Don't put the kettle on: I'll keep it brief.

***

For presumably the first time in history, Pubquest had a female majority, as we were joined by Ali, Reanna and Hannah – all three of whom will loudly proclaim to anyone within earshot how lame Pubquest is, yet who were returning for their second, third and sixth(!) day of Pubquest respectively. Anyone would think they were starting to enjoy it.

The Psalter is an elongated building – two stone wings connected by a dilapated mid-section that looks like the sort of temporary structure your school no doubt used as an RE classroom.

Inside, it feels more like a pub: the carpets were patterned, the furniture was pre-loved and the staff were friendly.

The pub's impressive size meant there were numerous empty tables to choose from, and our advancing years meant we were beginning to see this as an asset rather than a liability – we picked a quiet corner to ourselves.

In a Pubquest first, we actually
remembered to take a photo of our food

As we hadn't eaten, we ordered an assortment of 2-for-1 stone-baked pizzas, which were surprisingly tasty. However, their oval shape led to a familiar conundrum – how are you meant to slice pizza if the base isn't round? I opted for the 'hacking off random slabs' approach, whereas Rob admirably attempted to converge his slices through a centre-point.

We paired it with Good For Your Elf by Kelham Island Brewery, a pale ale for which taste is irrelevant because everybody chooses it based on the festive pump-clip.

The pub was fine enough, but looking back there were hints that the end was nigh – the building was suffering from a severe lack of investment, and the pub was suffering from a severe lack of customers.

UPDATE: When I wrote this, it looked as though the pub was going to be turned into flats. However, that seems to have fallen through, and there are rumours The Psalter could reopen as a pub once more. This would put the tin lid on it – not only did we go to a pointless pub and write a pointless blog, but I would then have to rewrite said pointless blog because the introduction would be outdated!

Pub: The Psalter (178-180 Psalter Lane, S11 8US)

Rating: 8/10

Pint: Good For Your Elf

Brewery: Kelham Island Brewery (Sheffield)

NEXT UP: Reanna returns, at The Stags Head...

Pub 87, Day 33 – Masons Arms

By Andy

Although hidden from the main road, the Masons Arms jumps out if you select the right side-street, fighting for attention with the equally impressive Wesley Hall Church.

An old-fashioned boozer, the Masons Arms looks exactly how every pub should: patterned carpets, wooden fittings, and an ancient man sat in each corner (dog optional).

Despite appearing huge from outside, it somehow manages to feel cramped from within. The owners have gamely tried to make a feature out of the pub's bay window, but unfortunately the faded paint means it doesn't quite work. Then again, not every pub can be blessed with the Three Tuns' architecture.

The beer selection was ample, although it was with some trepidation that we ordered Hobgoblin Gold – we still hadn't forgotten our experience with Hobgoblin in West Street Live. Thankfully, the gold variant is much more pleasant.

Halfway through our pint the pool table became available, so we naturally power-walked our way over before someone else got there first.

Against the run of form, Rob triumphed (for the first time since the Big Tree, pub 44).

However, just as we were about to return to our seats, things got interesting. A young man stumbled over and asked if he could play. Never one to turn down a challenge (even from creepy drunk men), I agreed to a game.

As he racked the balls, he was struggling to stand without swaying; and in an attempt to toss the coin, he predictably dropped half the contents of his wallet, showering nearby patrons with copper.

I decided I had won the coin toss by default, and headed over to break.

“I'll play you for money,” slurred my opponent. “Make it interesting.”

I paused. The poor fellow was still scrabbling around for the pennies at his feet.

“How much?” I enquired, rummaging through my pocket for a coin or two.

“Thirty quid,” came the response, quick as a flash.

Drawing a sharp intake of breath, I turned to Rob and Hannah, who had kindly pulled up a stool to spectate. No words were spoken, but many facial expressions were exchanged:

“Do it! This'll pay for our drinks all night! It'll be like taking candy from a baby!” grinned Rob.

“He's clearly not thinking straight, be the good guy,” urged Hannah.

“Call it a fiver mate,” I concluded, not wanting to take undue advantage of him. I placed £5 in coins on the table.

A slight look of disappointment on his face, the man straightened up, reached for his back pocket, selected a £5-note from a wad of cash, then confidently strode to the other end of the table. With no announcement, he suddenly broke off, spreading the balls across the table at blistering speed.

Suspicious already, I observed his next shot in a bid to gauge his ability.

The stumble now replaced with a swagger, he delicately potted into the middle pocket. Casually chalking his cue with one hand, he then spent an age selecting his next shot, before playing a tedious safety.

By this point it was clear: only my good nature had prevented me from being royally hustled.

Pubquest's Most Wanted

My preferred plan of action was to punch my opponent in the face. Unfortunately, I hadn't yet finished my pint, and if we were barred from the Masons Arms at this stage we would never be able to complete Pubquest. (Also the guy would have kicked the shit out of me, but let's overlook this fact for now.)

My only remaining option was to continue with dignity. It was time to serve this guy some karma.

Alas, I was out of my depth. My adversary made short work of the reds, and advanced to the black while I had three yellows remaining. Fortunately, he missed a tough shot to win the game, giving me one final chance.

As I rose to my feet (yes, his style of play was so drawn-out that I had resorted to sitting down between shots), I heard Rob turn to Hannah and say, “He'll win it from here.”

Looking at the table, I realised he was right: my three colours were all in the open, and the black was right by the pocket.

This mumbled vote of confidence gave me the belief I needed to clear up. Sure enough, I didn't buckle.

The crowd rose to their feet with delight – Hannah gave me a hug, while Rob scooped up the money and treated us to a second pint.

My conquered rival skulked off, muttering something about “the table being too slow”.

Taking candy from a baby it was not. But taking £5 from a hustler was far more satisfying.

Masons Arms pool score: Andy 1-2 Rob

Pubquest pool score: Andy 42-30 Rob

Masons Arms pool score: Pubquest 1-0 Rest of World

Pubquest pool score: Pubquest 4-2 Rest of World

Pub: Masons Arms (2 Carson Road, S10 1UR)

Rating: 6/10

Pint: Hobgoblin Gold

Brewery: Wychwood Brewery (Witney, Oxfordshire)

NEXT UP: Blogging about a closed pub, at The Psalter...

Pub 86, Day 33 – Old Grindstone

By Rob

Twas a few weeks before Christmas, when all through the city,

Folk were out having fun, twas a sight oh-so pretty,

And amidst all these people there were two of the best,

Who were preparing themselves for a night of Pubquest.

They dressed up real smart, taking care of their looks,

And set off to drink in a place they called Crookes,

They were ready and focused, they were both in the zone,

And their first stop that night, would be the Old Grindstone.

From outside the pub looked really quite gracious,

And once inside it was most surprisingly spacious,

"I wonder," said Andrew, "what the beer choices are."

So to answer his query, we went to the bar.

We were both very pleased by the large range of beer,

How smart we both were for having come here!

"Frozen Assets looks good," I heard Andy shout,

From Taxman Brewing, it was a rich chocolate stout.

We each bought a pint and then we sat ourselves down,

As I sipped at my drink, Andy spotted my frown,

"What's wrong?" he inquired, "what's wrong?" he asked twice,

I said "I don't often like stout, but this is rather quite nice!"

We were enjoying the ale, and we were enjoying the sights,

Surrounded by tinsel and small Christmas lights,

And last but not least, we noted with glee,

Was a beautifully decorated, seven-foot tree.

Amidst all this splendour, amidst all this cheer,

We each drank our drinks, in the warm atmosphere,

The pub was friendly and cosy, and also trendy and cool,

It played music, had TV, and a table for pool.

The pub had made a real effort, it looked incredibly festive,

But it was time to sup up, as we were both getting restive,

It was already late, and there were more pubs ahead,

There stood at least one more pint, between me and my bed.

So while the pub was still busy, filled with lads and with lasses,

We both downed our drinks, and we returned our glasses,

We stepped out of the pub, and left behind its many charms,

As we each soldiered on, towards the Masons Arms.

Pub: Old Grindstone (3 Crookes, S10 1UA)

Rating: 8/10

Pint: Frozen Assets

Brewery: Taxman Brewing Company (based in Bargersville, USA)

NEXT UP: Encountering a pool hustler, at the Masons Arms...