Pub 35, Day 12 – The Hallamshire House

By Rob

Andy, beads of sweat running down his face from the strain, pulled the unconscious driver from the wreckage of the crumpled car. Just seconds earlier, I had managed to wrench the passenger-side door open, thus enabling him to reach inside and accomplish his feat of heroism. All of this, you understand, while the car was aflame and just seconds from exploding. Afterwards, the firemen arrived at the scene, visibly impressed by our miraculous rescue and muscular ―

―"No," Andy interjected. "Let's just stick to the traffic jam story."

He was right. The best lies are the simple ones.

Stepping through the door of The Hallamshire House almost an hour late, three sets of unhappy faces swivelled around, their scowls and frowns pointed very clearly in our direction. We swallowed nervously, preparing ourselves to deliver the hastily rehearsed excuse that we had concocted over at The Closed Shop.

Andy stepped forward to begin our explanation. But as he opened his mouth to speak, I noticed something. With a sudden stab of panic, I realised that we were about to dig our hole even deeper.

But it was too late. Andy, with an impressive degree of confidence and conviction, began to explain the unfortunate – and completely fabricated – travel complications that we had encountered along the road. To their credit, our friends sat there silently as they listened. My heart sank deeper with each word. When Andy had finished, he turned to look at me; I couldn't bring myself to meet his hopeful gaze.

There was, for what seemed like a very long time, silence.

Finally, one of them spoke.

"We just saw you leave The Closed Shop."

This catastrophic revelation actually made a lot of sense, given that they were all sat by the large front window which looked directly onto The Closed Shop – a glaringly obvious fact that I had become aware of moments too late.

After vocalising a stream of obsequious apologies we walked over to the bar and readied ourselves for what we thought might be a frosty evening.

Except it wasn't.

Even the cold hostility of our justifiably miffed coterie quickly thawed out in the warm atmosphere of The Hallamshire House. The pub is an absolute treasure. In fact, I'm prepared to go even further in my praise.

At the time of writing this blog, The Hallamshire House is my favourite pub in Sheffield.

Now, this is a bold statement and before it hits the papers I would like to explain myself:

1. The pub looks fantastic: It might sound odd, but decorating a pub is a tricky business. There's a fine line between traditional and tacky, and an even finer one between trendy and pretentious. The Hallamshire House is on the right side of both, with its old-fashioned pictures and brass tables and a distinct lack of "quirky" fixtures.

2. There's a huge range of great ales: Although plenty of pubs in this day and age can boast a long line-up of guest beers, The Hallamshire House has an unusually large number of ales that I really, really like.

3. The outdoor seating area is a really nice surprise: You have to go downstairs to find it and, having already demonstrated my poor observational skills when it comes to architecture, it took me a few visits to discover its existence. A lovely decking area, it has a mixture of covered and uncovered seating amidst a forest of plants and greenery.

4. The snooker room might just be the nicest one in the city: Of course, we may visit a pub next week that can boast of owning a superior specimen, but as things stand this wood-panelled beauty is the one to beat.

Anyway, now that I've finished salivating, allow me to tell you that we both ordered a pint of Colorado Red. A strong ale at over 6%, it was a beautiful pint. I'm a huge fan of red ale, which you don't see that often, so I was in my element.

Could things get better?

Two words: pub quiz.

On the verge of slipping into a euphoric coma, I procured a quiz sheet and we immediately set to work on the famous faces. For us, this meant ten minutes of hopelessly ascribing incorrect names to unknown pictures. When you're at the point where you're having to explain that Paul Daniels is not a black man in his thirties, you know the celebrity round is a lost cause.

We fared a bit better on the questions, but were by no means in the running for the victor's crown. Not that it mattered, as by the end of the quiz I had imbibed three pints of strong ale and felt immune to anything but good cheer.

After some convincing, we persuaded everyone to relocate to the snooker room. Having been continually battered by Andy at pool throughout our travels, I saw this as an opportunity to pull ahead in at least one cue sport. I picked up the chalk, smiled that I-know-you're-better-than-me-which-will-make-beating-you-fantastic smile, and played...

 ...For about ten minutes before it became obvious that I was going to lose.

At the start of the game it transpired that the coin machine for the table light was broken. As such, the trusting souls at the pub had switched the light on and set up an 'honesty box' that politely asked players to deposit their money. Of course, nobody was enforcing this and it was entirely open to abuse.

If you need any further proof of my love for this pub then look no further, because despite my habitual loathing for personal financial expenditure (a facet of my personality that played a large role in our search for the 50p pool table) I, along with Andy, paid up.

Eventually the game ended and, just as with the quiz, I hadn't even come close to winning. However, unlike with the quiz, the shame was mine alone to carry. The Pubquest snooker score thus stands at 2-1 in favour of Andy.

Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end. Pub closing time was fast approaching and we had another venue in our crosshairs. With a heavy heart we finished our drinks and made our way to the exit.

As for the rating? I’m sure it will come as no surprise that The Hallamshire House has earned the magic ten, securing for itself a place in the Pubquest Hall of Fame alongside the only other pub to have thus far climbed to such dizzying heights. I am talking, of course, about the infamous Barry's.

I think it’s probably safe to say that this is the first time that these two establishments have been ranked side-by-side in any sort of league table.

Hallamshire House snooker score: Andy 1-0 Rob

Pubquest snooker score: Andy 2-1 Rob

Pub: The Hallamshire House (49-51 Commonside, S10 1GF)

Rating: 10/10

Pint: Colorado Red

Brewery: Thornbridge Brewery (Bakewell)

NEXT UP: Finding a bargain, at The Springvale...

Pub 34, Day 12 – The Closed Shop

By Andy

I once read that only optimistic people are late. The theory goes that if your glass is half-full, you think you can achieve more than is possible in any given period of time. Of course, you then go on to fail spectacularly and piss off all your mates by turning up at twenty-past.

On this occasion, me and Rob had arranged to meet a few friends outside The Hallamshire House at 8pm. Ending up on the same bus as each other, we both arrived at 7:55. Whilst waiting for the others, it came to our attention that we were just yards away from The Closed Shop, another pub we had yet to visit. One quick drink, we reasoned, would hardly be a hanging offence. An in-and-out job: up to the bar, order a pint, gulp it down and be back at The Hallamshire for 8:00. No problem.

It took about 30 seconds before our optimistic plan went spectacularly wrong.

We ordered two pints of Vespers, a porter from Abbeydale Brewery. The barman was halfway through pulling our pints when tragedy struck. The reassuring sound of pint-pouring was replaced by a sharp hissing noise. The coal-coloured liquid oozing into the glass was replaced by nothing but foam.

“Sorry guys, it's gone. You'll have to have one Vespers and one of something else. Into The Abyss is quite similar.”

Me and Rob looked at each other aghast. We spluttered, we swore, we clasped our hands to our heads in disappointment. The barman had presumably never seen anyone quite so distraught by such mundane news

“But this is Pubquest! We're visiting every pub in Sheffield, and having a different pint in each one! It is absolutely out of the question that we don't drink the same thing. I suggest you get on the phone to Abbeydale Brewery, and demand they bring you another barrel of Vespers immediately!” we thought.

“Yeah that's fine, no worries, we'll have one Vespers and one Into The Abyss,” we said.

The pints came. I didn't even care which was which. We slumped off to a table to begin the inquest.

“Well this doesn't count,” announced Rob.

I agreed. We couldn't start drinking different pints to each other, or it would be possible for one of us to succeed at Pubquest while the other failed. Whatever the outcome, we had to either triumph as a team or go down in a blaze of glory together.

There was only one option: we had to finish these pints, then return to the bar and order again. Our quick drink at The Closed Shop had already turned into two.

Rob got out his phone to compose a text: “Sorry, gonna be 5 minutes late, we're stuck in a bit of traffic at the moment.” We couldn't quite bring ourselves to admit we were across the road, drinking without them.

To pass the time we hit the pool table. I took the first frame just as we finished our drinks. On our second trip to the bar, we went for two pints of Hophead. Thankfully, there was enough to go around.

By 8:15, things were looking rosy again. Hophead was a lovely light pint, a delight to drink quickly. It would simply be one more frame of pool and a few more sips of beer until we emerged from the traffic jam.

Unfortunately, disaster struck again.

I must admit, this one was my own fault. I cracked under the pressure. With just one sip of my Hophead left, I was on the black ball. Perfect timing. Taking my last gulp, I rolled the black into the middle pocket.

Except it missed. Catching the inside jaw a fraction too early, it settled roughly 0.01mm from glory. Rob made no mistake, levelling the session at one frame each. As any self-respecting man knows, you can't leave a pool match at 1-1...

“Best of three?” Rob asked. I had already put the coin in the slot.

Rob went to get the next round in. As any self-respecting man knows, you can't play a frame of pool without a pint in your hand...

While I was waiting for Rob's return, I got out my phone to send an update: “Still stuck in traffic I'm afraid. Think there must have been an accident or something...”

I also took the opportunity to cast my eye around the pub. A lovely old-fashioned ale house, The Closed Shop had transformed itself from “a quick pint” to somewhere we didn't want to leave. With a raised pool table and a selection of books and board games, it had enough facilities to keep me entertained for hours. A nearby group had ordered food and it looked spectacular – a towering burger and proper chips. Needless to mention the pub had a breathtaking array of beers – Vespers, Into The Abyss and Hophead had all hit the spot.

In fact, I'd go as far as to say that the only problem with the entire pub was that the pool table clearly had a burning, passionate hatred for me. In the deciding frame, the pockets kept rejecting my shots, the balls ricocheting away into unpottable positions. In contrast, Rob couldn't miss, and he soon wrapped up the win.

Inebriated to the tune of 3 pints and optimistic to the tune of 45 minutes, we finally crossed the road to meet our friends.

Closed Shop pool score: Andy 1-2 Rob

Pubquest pool score: Andy 30-20 Rob

Pub: The Closed Shop (52-54 Commonside, S10 1GG)
Rating: 9/10
Pint: Hophead  
Brewery: Dark Star Brewing Company (Partridge Green, West Sussex)

NEXT UP: Making excuses, at The Hallamshire House...

Pub 33, Day 11 – Star & Garter

The Quest for the 50p Pool Table

Volume Three: The Return of the Bloggers

By Rob

This blog is the third in a trilogy of posts. Together, they detail our epic search for a 50p pool table and all the adventures along the way. 

***

Standing on Winter Street, Crookesmoor, it is instantly apparent that you're in a student area. The immediate landscape is dominated by university architecture, ranging from the one-time tallest building in the city, the Arts Tower, to the redbrick sprawl of Bartolome House.

Visit during term time and the street is teeming with students moving from lecture to seminar, from Western Bank Library to the green pleasantry of Crookes Valley Park. The pedestrian traffic has an average age of nineteen and the whole place reeks of youthful optimism, aspiration, and emptied overdrafts.

Yet there is something strangely out of place within this picture.

Its name?

The Star & Garter.

One remarkable thing about this small pub is that, despite being situated on a prime student thoroughfare and thus in an excellent position to cash in, it's a notably non-student establishment.

Like me, you may be tempted to offer congratulations to the landlord on this point. There's something dignified about a local pub, for local residents, resisting the temptation to change course and transmogrify itself into a student pub. Native Sheffielders need a watering hole too, and it stands to reason that they might prefer their pint without an accompanying horde of rowdy punters at least half their age.

Unfortunately, congratulations are not a recognised form of legal tender and the local residents who do partake of the S&G's services are strikingly few in number. As such, the pub has been teetering on a knife-edge for some time - a "To Let" sign outside has been there for so long that it's practically a structural fixture.

It would appear that the management isn't unaware of this. A small sign by the door now weakly and unconvincingly proclaims "Students Welcome". Sadly, it will take much greater efforts to reverse the pub's declining fortunes and convince the student population, who are all too willing to part with their money in exchange for alcohol, to venture inside.

Like many of my fellow university attendees, I'd walked past the pub a thousand times without ever thinking about popping in. After all, it was notorious for how unfriendly it was to student visitors. But one user on Sheffield Forum had just brought this pub crashing to the forefront of my mind. According to this anonymous hero, the S&G once harboured a pool table. This table, he claimed, used to be 50p a game.

As someone who looked very much like a student, I was dubious about venturing inside. After all, the only thing I knew about the place was that I wouldn't be welcome.

But what else could we do? Did the Hobbits shy away from journeying to Mordor just because they'd heard it was full of orcs? Did Luke Skywalker turn his fighter around and fly away from the Death Star, just because he'd heard it might be filled with Stormtroopers? And what, I ask you, would have happened to the wizarding world if Harry Potter had thrown in the towel because he'd once overheard someone say that his nemesis was a homicidal lunatic?

Not wanting to be outdone by Hobbits, Jedi and teenagers, we steeled ourselves against the cold wintery afternoon chill and made our way from The Graduate to the other side of the city centre. Before too long, we found ourselves standing outside that small and uninviting building in the midst of a student kingdom. Like the brave men of the north we were, we strode boldly inside.

The first thing to say is that, on the inside, it looked exactly as we'd imagined: small, dark, and poorly decorated. A few locals were leant against the bar listening to an overloud and eclectic playlist, but otherwise the place was empty.

The second thing to say is that everything I had heard about the hostile atmosphere appeared to be rubbish. The bar staff were more than happy to have us inside and while the locals didn't leap up from their seats to embrace us, they didn't glare at us either.

Happy about not being threatened with fists and sharp implements, we glanced around the dimly lit interior.

Then, at the far side of the pub we saw it.

The pool table stood there, empty and inviting. The sight of it's not-entirely-pristine baize was like water to a man dying in the desert. Hearts racing, we moved towards it.

Each step lasted a lifetime, each breath consumed an age. We had traversed the endless hills of Sheffield for this moment. Trusting in nothing but the word of a stranger, we had come here, to this rarely visited spot at the end of our hope, and put what little faith we had left into this one, final push.

After what seemed like an eternity, we reached the table. We glanced at the coin slot in unison.

'50p a game'.

Just then, the track on the playlist changed and the hallelujah chorus came on.

(It didn't).

We fell to our knees, holding one another tight, and we wept.

(We didn't).

We slapped each other on the back, ordered two pints and paid our 50p.

(We did).

The choice of drinks was predictably lamentable and we each bought a pint of Guinness.

At the time of writing this blog we have now been to the S&G several times and have built up a considerable pool score there. The pub has, with tragic inevitability, witnessed us return as regulars.

Of course, it hardly deserves a stellar rating. It’s not a great venue. It’s not even nice. But for us, it was a place made of pleasant surprises: nobody wanted to stab us, and the pool table was 50p a game (not to mention completely empty).

So, proving that we are not professional reviewers and are, in fact, easily swayed by even the slightest measure of happiness – the Star & Garter gets an unquestionably undeserved eight stars.

S&G Pool Score: Andy 21-15 Rob 

Pubquest Pool Score: Andy 29-18 Rob

Pub: The Star & Garter (82-84 Winter Street, S3 7ND)
Rating: 8/10
Pint: Guinness
Brewery: Guinness Brewery (Dublin)

NEXT UP: Stuck in traffic, at The Closed Shop... 

Pub 32, Day 11 – The Graduate

The Quest for the 50p Pool Table 
Volume Two: The Two Black Balls   

By A. R. R. Wilson

This blog is the second in a trilogy of posts. Together, they detail our epic search for a 50p pool table and all the adventures along the way.

***

After the opening chapter of our trilogy, we decided to rethink our tactics in pursuit of The Holy Grail. A student pub, we reasoned, would bring us more success – its inhabitants are eternally skint, and quite often have absolutely nothing to do with their day, making cheap pool the perfect distraction. With this in mind, we took our odyssey deeper into Middle Sheffield, to The Graduate by Hallam Uni. What's more, as it was just 2pm, we hoped to catch it before the students arrived for breakfast.

As a kid, on holiday in sunny Scarborough, I remember finding a pool table which cost just 20 pence to play. Such an outcome was but a distant dream on this dreary day in Sheffield. Things were simpler back then...

However, as I had only recently moved back to Sheffield from Howden, I was determined not to be beaten. In sleepy Howden, all pool tables were 50p a pop. Suddenly, on my return to the big city, I was faced with paying twice the price for the same product. No other commodity doubled in price after my relocation – I shudder to think how much a game of pool costs in London.

“I hear the landlord's thinking of putting the pool table up to tuppence a game.”
“Ridiculous! Who's gonna pay that?”

The Graduate is a good-looking pub, with a modern feel and an inviting layout. Located by the beautiful Tudor Square, it is an excellent venue to sit outside and watch the world go by (if the weather permits). The pub is part of the Stonegate Pubs chain, and so has a semi-Spoons vibe about it, but at the same time comes across as much trendier. This is proven by the absence of bearded middle-aged men, a staple of the Spoons diet; in their place are energetic tables of students.

The beer selection though was not the most exciting – ales were sold, but they were all so familiar as to make us turn to lager. A pint of Estrella was selected – a Catalan beer which I once became somewhat addicted to while on holiday in Barcelona.

Upon heading over to the pool table, we were immediately met with disappointment: £1 per game. However, at least The Graduate gives you a bit of added value: bizarrely, the table spat out two black balls, in addition to the requisite reds and yellows.

Not wanting to waste our free ball, we decided to position it behind the triangle (as you would in snooker). Having to think on our feet, we adjusted the rules slightly: only once you have potted all your colours can you begin potting the blacks. The blacks can be potted in any order, but whoever pots the final black wins.

This turned out to have a levelling effect on the game – Rob stormed off into an early lead, but dallied potting the first black. By the time he managed that, I had caught him up, and duly sank the second black to claim victory.

Unsure if we had invented a new sport or ruined an established one, our thoughts once more returned to the objective – to find a pub in the city centre which charges just 50p a frame.

All out of ideas, we turned to the place all Sheffielders visit during their hour of need: the Sheffield Forum. There, a heroic user pointed out the name of a pub we hadn't even considered...

Graduate Pool Score: Andy 1-0 Rob

Pubquest Pool Score: Andy 8-3 Rob

Pub: The Graduate (Surrey Street, S1 2LH)
Rating: 6/10
Pint: Estrella Damm
Brewery: Sociedad Anónima Damm (Barcelona)

NEXT UP: The trilogy concludes, at the Star & Garter... 

Pub 31, Day 11 – The Cavendish

By Rob
 
The Quest for the 50p Pool Table 

Volume One: The Fellowship of the 50p Pool Table 

This blog is the first in a trilogy of posts. Together, they detail our epic search for a 50p pool table and all the adventures along the way.

***

After our visit to The Beehive, our long term ethanol-infused excursion underwent a bit of a slowdown. Andy, having successfully secured himself a job in Sheffield, was busy attending to all those details that accompany a relocation, thus finding himself without the requisite spare time for Pubquest.

The months rolled by, the year changed, and we finally arrived at February 2015 - the year that Andy returned to his homeland. The journey was back on.

Now that we were endeavouring to continue our pool marathon, we decided it would be a good idea to hone our skills on the baize. Neither of us wanted to embarrass ourselves on a table in some ropey back-alley tavern, while irritated regulars looked on in disgust. Nobody wanted a repeat of the events at the The Red Lion.

Alas, there was a problem. Pubquest was morphing into a pricey affair. Travel expenses aside, the cumulative cost of all those pints was far from negligible. Then, throw in the additional expenditure of playing pool, and the money mounts up. As a student, I didn't need to find extra ways to spend what little money I didn't actually have.

Thus began our quest. A quest-within-a-quest, if you will. We would hunt down that most elusive of beasts: a pub, in the city centre, that charged 50p for a game of pool.

The first place we tried was The Cavendish, on West Street. For anybody who has ever set foot inside The Cavendish, no doubt the question that immediately springs to mind is whether or not it is actually a pub.

A similar conundrum to that encountered upon visiting West Street Live, there were good arguments for both sides. However, the place is owned by Stonegate Pubs. It's also listed on Google as a pub and, as our uncodified, self-imposed rules state: if there exists any reasonable doubt about the status of the establishment then we must assume it's a pub and treat it as such.

Inside, it's easy to see why somebody might label it otherwise. The bar stretches for a considerable length along the far wall and there are drinks offers aplenty, most of which gently suggest this not a very 'pubbish' sort of pub.

Of course, that's not necessarily a bad thing. I really like The Cavendish. It's nicely decorated inside with a variety of seating areas and the drink prices are very reasonable considering its central location. It's always lively at the weekend and does an impressive trade most weekdays too.

As for the ales, there's a reliable stream of guest ales on tap that makes it an ideal stop for us. We each bought a pint of Pride of Sheffield, an enjoyable malty ale with an unashamedly local name.

Waiting for a vacant pool table, we sat ourselves down. Minutes into this, we saw that some guys across from us were giving us a strange look: confusion mingled with mild disgust.

We then noticed that one of our pints was full, while the other was significantly less so. We'd been drinking from the same glass. It turns out that there's something oddly perverse and unsettling about seeing two grown men drink continually from the same pint. Wanting to look a little less grossly codependent, we quickly amended our error.

When a pool table became available we leapt up with our characteristic vim and vigour. Unfortunately, it cost one full English pound per game. That's not to bash The Cavendish, as pretty much everywhere charges a pound.

Undeterred from our goal, we played four frames, drawing at two each. We then headed out into the cold bite of midwinter to continue the search for our quarry. 

Cavendish Pool Score: Andy 2-2 Rob

Pubquest Pool Score: Andy 7-3 Rob

Pub: The Cavendish (220-238 West Street, S1 4EU)
Pint: Pride of Sheffield
Brewery: Kelham Island Brewery (Sheffield)
Rating: 8/10

NEXT UP: The quest continues, at The Graduate...

Pub 30, Day 10 – The Beehive

By Andy

The bell rang.

Unlike at school, where this was always a joyous occasion; when you're sat in a pub, it is a moment of despair. It can only ever be followed by two words:

“Last orders!”

We had run out of time. Our planned pub crawl around Hillsborough had come crashing to an inescapable halt. In order to continue, we once again had to head to town.

Luckily, The Queen's Ground is on the tram route. With West Street being the obvious stop to disembark at, we ended the night at The Beehive.

Pleasingly for West Street, The Beehive is still undeniably a pub – with carpeted floors and wooden chairs, you could be forgiven for thinking you were in the suburbs. Not to worry though, as a quick glance out the window will soon bring you back to reality, where the local entertainment includes drunken kebab juggling and high-heeled gymnastic routines.

All too many “pubs” in town have abandoned their roots and morphed into pub-bar bastards, unthinkable hybrids of J.D. Wetherspoon and Peter Stringfellow. This is undoubtedly an attempt to tick all the boxes, but all too often ends up pleasing no-one: an impressive array of guest ales and 4 Jagerbombs for £5 do not belong under the same roof.

The Beehive hasn't fallen for such populist nonsense, and it is all the better for it. Strangely, this seems to manifest itself in improved decorum – whereas at many city-centre drinkeries, punters crowd around the bar until the person at the front can no longer breathe, The Beehive retains a more orderly system, pleasing everyone who values an intact ribcage.

Don't be mistaken into thinking it's less lively than its neighbours though. When we arrived at almost midnight on a Thursday it was still buzzing with students, and on a Friday night it maintains its colony until closing time.

Getting into the spirit of things, we selected two pints of Freshers Ale, a fruity beer whose logo awakens nostalgia for anyone who spent their pocket money at the sweet shop.

Thankfully, Freshers (the ale) wasn't quite as sour as Refreshers (the sweets), although it did possess a tangy kick in honour of its inspiration.

Glancing around, we noticed something always sure to arouse our interest: the pool table stood idle. Although we had both proved our worth against formidable opponents so far on Pubquest, we were yet to play each other. That was about to change. Being of a similar ability, we agreed that the only way to determine who was better was to compete at every Pubquest pool table we encountered. With scores to settle and change to waste, the pool marathon began.

As most of the clientele at this time seemed more interested in drinking games than cue sports, we managed to hold on to the table for quite some time. This was bad news for Rob, who was woefully out of form. I took the first five frames, before he reduced the deficit to 5-1. However, just as he was announcing his comeback, he was rudely interrupted.

The bell rang.

“Last orders!”

The Beehive pool score: Andy 5-1 Rob

Pubquest pool score: Andy 5-1 Rob

Pub: The Beehive (240 West Street, S1 4EU)

Rating: 8/10

Pint: Freshers 

Brewery: Naylor's Brewery (Cross Hills, North Yorkshire)

NEXT UP: The quest for the 50p pool table, at The Cavendish...

Pub 29, Day 10 – The Queen's Ground

By Rob

As the doors of The Shakey closed on the sounds of merriment and celebration, so too did they close on one of the lowest periods of Pubquest so far. We hadn’t expected to win the quiz, but even in our darkest moments – during the popular culture questions, for example – we had never envisioned being subjected to public ridicule.

Nevertheless, with the exception of several debilitating diseases and a host of other potential misfortunes, we reminded ourselves that whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.

With a newfound resolve, strengthened by two pints of beer and half a packet of protein-rich peanuts, we headed to the next pub. Leaving Hillsborough Corner behind, we walked down Langsett Road in the direction of the city centre.

Before long we arrived at The Queen’s Ground Hotel. From the outside it looked like a very nice establishment indeed, set inside a sizeable stone building with large bay windows looking out onto the street.

Inside, the pub was very typical of the older gentleman’s drinkery, with a heavily patterned red carpet and walls the colour of Dijon mustard. However, I should say that it was by no means unpleasant. There was an eye-catching stained-glass feature above and behind the bar, which looked as if it had been there for a good many decades, advertising ‘Ward's Fine Malt Ales’. There was also a billiards room at the back of the building, which will always be a welcome addition as far as we’re concerned.

Unfortunately, despite the statement to the contrary, there were no fine malt ales on sale. In fact, there was not an ale in sight. As such, we elected to imbibe a pint of John Smith’s Magnet.

While it’s understandable that a few of you non-existent readers might have some doubts about whether, say, John Smith's Extra Smooth and John Smith's Extra Cold are different beers, there can be no such doubts surrounding the categorisation of Magnet.

Although Magnet can be bought right across the UK, it is now heavily restricted to the North East of England and Yorkshire. It is easily the least well known of the John Smith's products and, for whatever reason, unlike the other variations it gets absolutely no promotion from the business. In fact, if you look on the John Smith's website, you will see that they only list two products: Original and Extra Smooth.

With its continually decreasing territorial range, Andy and I have long been of the opinion that Magnet is a critically endangered species and will, in the foreseeable future, cease to be.

Why do we care? Well, mainly because it’s a nice pint. The strongest of all the John Smith's beers, Magnet also has a much richer, fruitier taste. Without a doubt, it deserves far more recognition than it gets.

Sat there, nursing the beer equivalent of the Sumatran Tiger, I found that my desire to like the pub was greater than my ability to do so. The interior was nice enough, it had a snooker table, and it served Magnet; it was ticking the right boxes.

Unfortunately, the place was virtually empty. Worse still, the few people that were stood around the bar managed, deliberately or otherwise, to exude an air of unfriendliness that was only encouraged by the barman – you would think he would be pleased to welcome two more customers to his sparsely populated pub.

So, despite drinking Magnet in an old pub with a snooker table, The Queen's Ground gets an uninspiring 4/10.

Pub: The Queen's Ground (401 Langsett Road, S6 2LJ)

Rating: 4/10 

Pint: John Smith's Magnet

Brewery: John Smith's Brewery (Tadcaster, North Yorkshire)

NEXT UP: The pool marathon begins, at The Beehive...