Pub 63, Day 25 – The Hermitage

By Andy

Sweeping up the pubs we missed on our previous trip to Sharrow, we were hoping for a less salacious occasion than the last time we visited the area. We had wisely left it three years since, lest any police still be on the lookout for a drink driver dressed as a cowboy.

The first pub we came across was The Hermitage, a giant boozer at the bottom of London Road. Upon entering, we were struck by how busy it was – in an era when most pubs have a handful of patrons huddled in a corner, The Hermitage had hardly a spare seat in the house. Fighting our way through the masses, we requested two pints of Cascade Pale Ale.

The barmaid took great care pouring the perfect pint, but just as I was extracting the money from my wallet, she inexplicably turned to serve someone else.

Now I had worked in retail myself, so I had done it all before: given someone too much change, given someone too little change, accidentally accepted Euros instead of pounds because I was in a hangover-induced daze. But forgoing the exchange of cash for goods altogether was a new one on me. Confused, I leant across and gently pointed out her error.

“erm... I haven't paid for these yet...”

“Don't you know? Today's our grand reopening! All drinks are free until 6!”

“Oh,” I stuttered. “Have you been closed?”

“Yeah since July, the whole place has been refurbished. Haven't you noticed?”

Never having set foot in the pub before, I can't say I had. “Well, now you mention it...” I lied.

“We've got a new name,” she declared, abruptly. “We're called The Hermitage now.”

“Oh yeah I saw that,” I replied, glad to find my footing in the conversation.

“Do you prefer it to the old name?” she enquired.

Now I really was stumped. “Errrm it's tough to say,” I mumbled. “I was so used to the old name...”

“Yeah, we thought it sounded a bit elitist though.”

“I know what you mean,” I replied, not having the faintest clue what she meant. My mind boggled as to what the pub was previously called. Einstein's Arms? The Surgeon's Scalpel? The Sharrow Working Mensa Club? Confident that the real answer was bound to be a disappointment^[1], I scurried into the crowd before she could ask me anything else.

It seems The Hermitage had discovered the secret to a busy pub: free alcohol. For a while, we found ourselves perched by the quiz machine, unable to locate a seat at all. However, the free drinks meant regular trips to the bar (and toilet) for all concerned, so in true primary school fashion, we enforced an 'on your feet, lose your seat' policy.

The pub was open-plan with a high ceiling, meaning although it was busy, it never felt crowded. Perhaps it was merely a ploy to impress on opening night, but the selection of drinks was terrific, with beer enthusiasts and gin aficionados particularly well-catered for.

Our Cascade Pale Ale was crisp and golden, further enhancing the reputation of the ever-impressive Saltaire Brewery. Always keen to take advantage of an open bar, we soon progressed to double vodka-Red Bulls. Although we felt a slight pang of guilt helping ourselves to free drinks at a pub we had never been to before and would probably never go to again, this was quickly offset by a drunken agreement to award The Hermitage an extra point when deciding their Pubquest Rating – an honour worth far more financially than a few measly drinks.

We finally made a financial contribution to The Hermitage's upkeep when we spotted a table-football table – a common feature in the bars of coastal Spain but a rarity in British pubs. Always grateful for a new game to beat Rob at, I placed a pound coin in the slot.

Just before we kicked off, Rob did warn me that he was abysmal; however I failed to fully comprehend just how bad a human being with two arms could possibly be. I ended up triumphing 12-2 (working out at an economical 7.14 pence per ball), and can now include table football along with snooker and Connect Four as Pubquest games in which I emerged victorious. Just don't mention the darts.

After several double vodka-Red Bulls, it was decided that we should move on to our next destination. Coincidentally, this decision was taken at 18:01, just as the free bar had come to an end. The mass exodus which followed was akin to a fire drill, leaving behind a sea of empty glasses for some poor soul to clear up. Alas, The Hermitage may have discovered the secret to a busy pub, but it had failed to find the formula of a profitable one.

Hermitage table football score: Andy 1-0 Rob
Pubquest table football score: Andy 1-0 Rob

Pub: The Hermitage (13 London Road, S2 4LA)

Rating: 8.5/10

Pint: Cascade Pale Ale

Brewery: Saltaire Brewery (Shipley, West Yorkshire)

NEXT UP: Uncharted territory, at The Albion...

References:
[1] According to Google, the pub was previously called The Scholar

Pub 62, Day 24 – The Sheaf Island

By Andy

Heading down Eccy Road, we had earmarked the Nursery Tavern as our next stop. However, along the way we stumbled upon a place we didn't even know existed: the Pointing Dog.

Discovering a new pub is always a double-edged sword here at Pubquest HQ. On the one hand, it's a new location to visit, new beers to try and new memories to create. On the other, it's an extra pint for our already overworked livers, and yet another blog to add to our ever-burgeoning in-tray.

Immediately though, we sensed a get-out clause: the pub/bar conundrum was rearing its ugly head again. We've only signed up to visit every pub in Sheffield, not every single place that serves alcohol, so bars and social clubs are not on our agenda.

Instantly arousing our suspicions was the presence of a bouncer. In my experience, pubs that enlist bouncers are either extremely rough pubs or not pubs at all. On the basis of its postcode alone, the Pointing Dog clearly doesn't fall into the former category.

Prepared to give it the benefit of the doubt, we flashed our IDs and stepped into the entrance hall. However, that was as far as we got. Sitting there, in pride of place, was a sign-in book. To enter the establishment, you were required to be either a member or a guest. Both of these options involved leaving a variety of details, including your address and date of birth.

The Great British pub, an abbreviation of public house, is open to all. It keeps no register of clients, nor does it make distinctions between regulars and travellers passing through. Pub landlords know their customers not by email address or postcode, but by hobbies and favourite drink. Pub customers are not categorised or filtered, but a representative sample of the great unwashed public.

The Pointing Dog's double-pronged system of bouncers and sign-in books smacked more of keeping people out, rather than welcoming whoever crossed the threshold.

Sensing we were about to leave, the bouncer tried to entice us.

“We get all the celebs in here y'know,” he announced, proudly.

“Oh yeah, who do you get?” I asked.

“That Asian lad from Emmerdale was in once.”

New rule: if you don't even know the name of the person in question, you cannot brag about it as a celebrity encounter. I didn't even bother feigning interest.

Realising he was losing not only our custom but our interest, he doubled down:

“And we had the Great Britain Diving Team in the other week.”

“Oh yeah, Tom Daley?” I enquired, genuinely curious.

“No, the other ones,” he replied.

Brilliant. The other ones. The anonymous ones, the ones who literally nobody can name. Needless to say, we left the Pointing Dog, never to return.

Frustratingly, our shenanigans at the Pointing Dog meant we missed last orders at the Nursery Tavern. Undeterred, we continued down Eccy Road towards town – a route well-trodden by tipsy Sheffielders for generations.

Eventually, we arrived at The Sheaf Island. One of Sheffield's more recent Spoons, it opened in 2010 on the site of the old Wards Brewery. Although the closure of Sheffield's last major brewery in 1999 was a sad chapter for the city, at least there is a touch of continuity with a pub now standing in the brewery's place.

Thanks to its previous life, The Sheaf Island is cavernous – we're not quite boring enough to get a tape measure out, but it must be Sheffield's biggest pub. Despite this, at peak times it can still be a struggle to find a table – a sure sign of its popularity.

The pub's more central location meant it was open later than the Nursery Tavern, so we opted for two pints of Diamond Black Stout to round out the night. Perhaps this was a mistake – it was a little heavy to finish the evening on – but it was enjoyable nonetheless.

When it comes to assigning a Pubquest Rating, Wetherspoons always pose a dilemma: I can never quite decide if I love them or hate them. Their selection of beers is laudable, yet the food they serve conducts all manner of cardinal sins. Manufactured, microwaved, devoid of all nutrition: it's a good job they throw in a terrific pint to wash it all down.

The Sheaf is certainly one of the superior Spoons though – modern, trendy and well-located, it puts seedier specimens like The Swim Inn and The Bankers Draft to shame.

Pub: The Sheaf Island (Wards Brewery, Ecclesall Road, S11 8HW)

Rating: 7/10

Pint: Diamond Black Stout

Brewery: Chantry Brewery (Rotherham)

NEXT UP: Free drinks! At The Hermitage... 

Pub 61, Day 24 – The Lescar

By Andy

I have a confession to make:

We went to The Lescar twice.

Our first visit was wholly uneventful – it would have been a struggle to transform it into the exciting yet hilarious blog post you've no doubt become accustomed to.

So we went back, hoping to find something to write about.

Boy did we get it. 

It turns out The Lescar hosts a Jazz Night every Wednesday – a weekly event that only a pub in S11 can get away with.

In an epic misjudgement of our sophistication, we decided to attend.

The Lescar is quite a dark and dingy pub anyway, but upon arrival we were immediately directed to an even darker and dingier back room, where we parted with £7 to watch the “critically acclaimed” Lauren Kinsella Quintet.

I thought I was coming on culturally: I don't read the tabloids anymore, and I've become very partial to a night at the theatre. But I was not ready for this.

We were treated to an assortment of mishmash music with less structure than a primary-school play, each member of the quintet competing to be the most offensive to our ears.

The pianist plonked randomly, nodding along like it was in any way rhythmic. The saxophonist overpowered everything, rasping away in a manner that would have Homer Simpson banging on walls.

The drummer, as drummers are prone to do, made his presence felt at every possible opportunity, smashing his way through even the most laid-back of melodies.

I'm fairly sure the double bass player was miming. Either that or it is an utterly, utterly pointless instrument.

The vocalist was not singing in any identifiable language. I like my songs in English; perhaps French if I'm feeling particularly pretentious. But she resorted to making noises, which as the night wore on began to sound suspiciously like Bill & Ben.

Even more frustratingly, in other sequences she would stay entirely silent, closing her eyes and swaying to minimal piano chords. SAY SOME FUCKING WORDS, YOU'RE A VOCALIST AND I'VE PAID SEVEN FUCKING POUNDS TO LISTEN TO YOU!

The show soon reached so-bad-it's-good territory. It took all my might to avoid cracking out laughing in the middle of the set – during particularly horrendous songs I was creased over, my shoulders shaking. When the drummer got into his groove I could afford to let out a few sly snorts, but when the pianist took centre stage, the entire room would have noticed a pin drop, let alone an audience member collapsing in hysterics. I wanted to be anywhere else.

Rob later told me that he “couldn't look at me”, lest he be struck by the same bug. The refined folk sat next to us must have noticed how terribly uncouth we were.

Thankfully, we managed to sneak out at the interval, no doubt forbidden from attending Jazz Night ever again.

The next day, The Lescar hosted their famous Comedy Club. Rumours that the Lauren Kinsella Quintet returned to perform the same set are as yet unconfirmed...

Pub: The Lescar (303 Sharrow Vale Road, S11 8ZF)

Rating: 7/10

Pint: The Mad Squirrel's Milk Stout

Brewery: Red Squirrel Brewing Company (Potten End, Hertfordshire)

NEXT UP: Celebrity encounters, at The Sheaf Island...

Pub 60, Day 24 – The Porter Cottage

By Rob

Emptying our glasses (and returning them to the bar, in accordance with Pubquest etiquette) we headed out into the glitz and glamour of the colloquially named 'Eccy' Road. For our guest Lucy, who'd just graduated from university and was now confronted with the hellish reality of adult life, it was important to have another drink. 

Under the guise of celebrating our friend's academic success, we strolled around the corner to The Porter Cottage (ten points to anybody who can spot the link to the previous pub). Lucy, now bearing witness to one of our famous multi-pub events, had to admit that being awarded a degree was only the second most exciting thing to have happened to her that day.

The Porter Cottage was a pleasant little pub: cosy and traditional, while still being firmly 'on trend'. The pub sported an excellent line-up of guest ales, an acclaimed alternative jukebox, and 'Beer Tapas' for anybody with a thirst for variety (three different ales, each a third of a pint, for the price of one drink). 

Given that Lucy had just finished three gruelling years of studying law, and bearing in mind that today represented one of the biggest achievements of her life, we agreed to each buy her a drink. It was my round and Lucy, wishing to celebrate her big day, asked for a glass of Prosecco. I gently explained to the cheeky little bitch that I wasn't made of money and that she could buy her own Prosecco when she started raking the money in as a lawyer, but that in the meantime she would need to make do with cheap beer like the rest of us. 

To that end, I ordered three pints of Wyld Wood cider. I honestly can't recall why, out of all of the various options available, I opted for a cider. Presumably it was just one of those weird, synaptic spasms that happens to people now and again, like when your whole body shudders for no discernible reason. As we've covered in previous posts, neither I nor Andy are big fans of the stuff. However, Wyld Wood was palatable (for a cider). I can't really say much more than that.

Unbeknownst to the staff at The Porter Cottage, they had the honour of hosting Pubquest's 60th visit. To celebrate ticking off another ten pubs, we decided to mark the occasion by inventing another great gimmick, which would go on to become a staple of future Pubquest adventures.

I am, of course, talking about the ingenious beer mat certificates!

The concept was stunningly simple. We would peel a beer mat, like bored toddlers at a Sunday carvery, and then write a congratulatory message on the newly pristine surface. Inevitably, the task fell to me, as Andy's handwriting hasn't really improved since about Year 8, while Lucy was ruled out on account of being a mere guest. Andy asked the perplexed barmaid for a pen and I went to work. I'm sure you'll all agree, the result was stunning.

I finished the certificate as we each drained our glasses. We dropped the empty vessels at the bar and headed for the door, while Andy approached the barmaid with his graffiti-ridden beer mat. 

Now, I was there for this bit, so I have my own opinions on how it transpired, but Andy is convinced that the scene played out like this:

The barmaid, who had spent the last few minutes wondering why Andy had asked her for a pen, watched the blonde man approach. In his hand, he held a note. Anticipation gripped her, as the young woman was convinced that this enigmatic stranger had written his phone number down on what appeared to be a little slip of paper and that, most exciting of all, he was about to hand it over. Her heart skipped a beat, while her eyes (and I am now going to quote Andy directly) "lit up with a look that only the promise of eternal happiness can bring". 

For Andy, who had a girlfriend, it was a bittersweet moment. He handed over the beer mat, then turned and walked away, unable to face the crushing disappointment that would be writ plain across her countenance, as she discovered that he had not, in fact, given her his number. As he left the pub, he thought he heard a sob, carried on the wind.

According to my own recollection, Andy walked up to the barmaid, who was hoping to get her pen back, and handed her a tatty, ripped beer mat that was covered in nonsense. As he walked away, she no doubt wondered what sort of grown man tears up beer mats and how, thanks to him, there was probably a pile of ripped paper sitting on his table that she would have to clean up.

Pub: The Porter Cottage (286 Sharrow Vale Road, S11 8ZL) 

Rating: 8.5/10

Pint: Wyld Wood Classic Cider 

Brewery: Westons Cider (Much Marcle, Herefordshire)

NEXT UP: Jazz Night, at The Lescar...

Pub 59, Day 24 – Porter Brook

This blog introduces the first of our guest writers. In this instance, the author in question is our long-suffering friend Lucy, who was lucky enough to be selected (from a crowd of eager applicants) to join us for a few beers...

By Lucy

Fast approaching its 60th pub-iversary, the founders of Pubquest had something of a celebration approaching. So, what better way to celebrate than to head to the very heart of sophistication that is Ecclesall Road? Situated in the second wealthiest area in the UK, it boasts an array of upmarket boutiques, restaurants, bars, and South Yorkshire’s only Waitrose. Except we weren't interested in any of that, we were there for the other treat Eccy Road has to offer – pubs, obviously.

Despite Rob and Andy's pledge to address the fact that Pubquest visits a disproportionate number of “nice” pubs, we found ourselves gravitating towards one of the more affluent areas of Sheffield (we’re not snobs, honest). Incidentally, it also happened to be the day of my graduation! Yes, the eagle-eyed readers among you will have spotted that neither Andy nor Rob have bothered to blog tonight. Instead, they've decided to introduce the concept of guest-bloggers as a “celebratory” affair. I've known them both for over a decade now, so it comes as no surprise that they're outsourcing their work – they're far too lazy to write every review themselves. 

 

Our celebration began where Ecclesall Road meets Hunter's Bar roundabout, in a cosy pub with a rather elegant facade (i.e: it had bay windows). Except it didn’t begin there for me, because unlike Andy and Rob I do not possess an encyclopaedic knowledge of Sheffield pubs, and they had failed to specify whereabouts on Ecclesall Road the Porter Brook was. Given that we're talking about a stretch of road approximately three and a half miles long, this was rather an important detail. So, whilst Andy and Rob were tucking into their first pints, I was wandering around the wrong end of the road, furiously channelling my frustration into a group text.

“Where are you?!?!”

Two minutes later – which, by the way, feels like a lifetime when you’re hanging aimlessly around, trying to look like you have a purpose – there was a distinct lack of reply from either of them. Faced with no other option, I resorted to what every millennial dreads: I called them.

Neither of them answered – it’s an unwritten rule. However, as soon as I hung my phone up after the 274th ring, a text message immediately came through from Rob.

“Where are you?”

“I’m where you told me to be. By the Eccy Road roundabout.”

“Which roundabout?”

“The Waitrose one.”

“Oh that’s the wrong one. We’re at Hunter's Bar.”

By the time I had traipsed a mile or so up the road, Andy and Rob were significantly ahead of me, drink-wise. Nevertheless, I ordered my pint and hauled up a chair. I was pleasantly surprised by the pub; I had expected a more middle-class affair. Despite its dignified exterior, the Porter Brook emitted a very homely, personal atmosphere. It boasted Sky Sports, a decent range of locally brewed ales, and plenty of comfortable red leather chairs for which I was particularly grateful. You can even sit outside and admire the riverside view if your visit coincides with warm weather (the river is also named the Porter Brook, as I’m sure you've figured out). Sadly, there was no sign of a pool table, therefore Andy couldn’t further secure his already substantial lead in their Pubquest sub-quest.

The pint, a home brew called Porter Brook Ale (which we were apparently obliged to drink due to some obscure rule the guys invented), went down a treat: served at just the right temperature and quenching the kind of thirst that only a passive-aggressive stomp up a posh road can muster. Being the height of British summer, the floral, slightly citrusy notes of the ale reminded its drinkers of the sun they never get to see; rounding off to a lip-puckering bitter finish which is precisely the feeling we get when we realise how pathetic our summers actually are.

It should also be said that the Porter Brook does some delightful-sounding nosh too. Sadly, I had indulged in a carvery and half a bottle of “Champsecco” earlier in the day, so there was absolutely no chance I was going to sample their traditional pub grub – at least not without making myself violently ill.

So, despite its disappointing lack of pool/snooker facilities in which Rob could further embarrass himself, the pub demonstrated the perfect home away from home: light, spacious, yet somehow managing to exude an intimate, welcome-home feel from the moment you walk through the door. A very good find.

Pub: Porter Brook (565 Ecclesall Rd, Sheffield S11 8PR)

Rating: 7/10

Pint: Porter Brook Ale

Brewery: Porter Brook (Homebrew)

NEXT UP: Accidental flirting, at The Porter Cottage...

Pub 58, Day 23 – Horse & Groom

By Rob

Sitting in The Red Lion, we looked back over the list of pubs we’d visited thus far. Two things were immediately apparent:

1. A disproportionate number of the pubs were in and around the city centre
2. A disproportionate number of the pubs were really nice

Town was where I lived and where Andy worked, so the location issue made sense. However, it was becoming clear that we were rapidly exhausting our supply of easy-to-reach pubs. What’s more, Pubquest was supposed to be about visiting all of Sheffield’s pubs – including places we would never normally go. Focussing on trendy, real ale venues wasn’t an adventure, it was simply an extended night out.

So, seeking to balance the scales a little, we got on a bus and threw ourselves into Gleadless Valley.

Gleadless Valley was the ideal place to go. It was known to be, shall we say, a little rough around the edges, which would help fix our middle-class problem. It was also decidedly not in the city centre, which helped to alleviate our geographical concerns. Finally, we knew of at least two pubs in the Valley and we knew where they were. Perfect.

With the bright lights of the city centre receding behind us, we eventually arrived at our location. Intending to visit The Blackstock first, we disembarked at the nearest stop, greeted by the not-so sparkling sights of the Valley's neglected streets.

It quickly became apparent that The Blackstock was closed (not permanently, just for the night). As experienced pub-goers, we were able to spot those subtle indicators that suggest a venue is not open for business. In this case, the locked doors and total lack of lighting gave it away.

Fortunately, we knew of another pub just five minutes down the road. After Andy slipped in a pile of wet autumn leaves and bruised his arse, we wandered over to the Horse & Groom.

This pub, an unattractive building in its own right, sits across the road from what can only be described as a tip. Now, when I say this, I'm not insulting the surrounding houses – the pub is literally across the road from Sheffield's busiest recycling centre.

Looking at it from the outside, nestled between the Valley's housing estate and a rubbish dump, neither of us were overcome with a desire to rush inside. But this was the cold reality of Pubquest, which we'd ignored for too long. We'd spent our time hopping from one gentrified part of the city to the next, fooling ourselves into thinking it would be like this forever. Now we were being reminded that Pubquest meant going where the yuppies wouldn't. Pubquest was serious business.

“I give it ten minutes before a fight breaks out,” Andy said to me as we walked towards the entrance.

“Don't be such a snob,” I shot back. “I bet it's nicer than you think.”

Once inside, I wore my I-told-you-so smirk all the way to the bar, because the place was absolutely fine. It was a small pub, with a pool table on a raised section at one end of the building. The interior was a little outdated and worn, but otherwise we were pleasantly surprised.

Even the choice of ales was better than imagined (as we had, admittedly, imagined none). We ordered two pints of Bumble Beer and got ourselves seated. The beer – a light amber ale containing honey – was slightly sweet and entirely passable at first, although it gradually morphed into a sickly substance as you worked your way down the glass.

Ever the "greedy, opportunistic pig" when it comes to food (a quote from the man himself), Andy spotted a large selection of sandwiches laid out on a table near the bar. Acutely aware of his surroundings, he decided to enquire about their availability before taking one.

“No,” snapped the woman behind the bar. “They're for the pool team,” she said, nodding in the direction of the pool table and its occupants.

Dejected, Andy sat back down and we began to discuss the pub. I made a great effort to hammer home the point that Andy's immediate impressions from the outside had been wrong, while my open-mindedness was to be commended. I was about to launch into a lecture on the deplorable practice of judging books by their covers, when two drunk lunatics crashed through the front doors.

Looking quite a lot like the Gallagher brothers, one of them staggered to the bar and ordered their pints, while the other stumbled towards the pool table. What happened next can be broken down as follows:

• The newcomers wanted to play pool
• Unfortunately, there was a pool match taking place between actual teams, so that wouldn't be possible
• The newcomers really wanted to play pool
• Again, it was explained that this was a pool match, between teams, and so they couldn't take part
• The two points are repeated, over and over

Eventually, the disagreement ended with pints of lager being thrown all over the shop, with glasses smashing left, right and centre. The two men threw some punches and received some in return. At one point, one of the participants shouted – and I quote – “Listen, I'll bite your fucking nose off you fucking mug!”

The whole ordeal ended with Liam and Noel being ejected from the pub, along with those pool players who had enthusiastically involved themselves in the altercation – which happened to be most of them.

Knowing what awaited me just inches away, I kept my eyes fixed firmly on the pint in my hand. After staring at my glass for as long as possible, I reluctantly turned to face Andy's I-told-you-so smirk, a cold reflection of the one I had worn just minutes earlier.

He glanced down at his watch: “It took six minutes for a fight to break out,” he stated.

Before I could respond, we were interrupted by the barmaid. She was standing there with a tray of sandwiches in her hands.

“Looks like the pool match has finished early,” she said brusquely. “Want some sandwiches?”

Pub: Horse & Groom (426 Blackstock Rd, S14 1JE)
Rating: 3/10
Pint: Bumble Beer
Brewery: Wentworth Brewery (Rotherham)

NEXT UP: Our first guest blogger, at the Porter Brook...

Pub 57, Day 23 – The Red Lion

By Rob

In terms of Pubquest milestones, we'd already reached quite a few. Pub number 50 had recently been ticked off; we'd found a pub that merited the coveted 10/10 (because it was a good pub and not because it provided Andy with sexual gratification); and we'd even produced a bonus blog.

Although we celebrated every significant achievement, we'd often thought that the real indication of longevity would be when we visited a pub with the same name as one we'd previously been to. It transpired that The Red Lion, on Charles Street, was to be the first such place. (As you will recall, the first Red Lion on our journey was a nice little pub over in Gleadless, where we'd shamed ourselves on the snooker table, right before a beautiful little man-date at Viva Tequila.)

To anybody with a half-decent knowledge of pubs, the title of our first repeat-namer will come as little surprise. After all, it's a well-known fact that the most common pub name in the UK is the Red Lion. While it's true that the top ten pub names change depending on the list you're looking at, and of course the numbers are constantly in flux, the Red Lion tops every chart.

Top 10 Most Common UK Pub Names:^[1]

1. Red Lion
2. Crown
3. Royal Oak
4. White Hart
5. White Horse
6. Swan
7. New Inn
8. Rose & Crown
9. King's Head
10. Bell

Why is the Red Lion so popular, I hear you ask? Why not the Blue Tiger? In fact, why not something with a more obvious message, such as The Nice Pint or The Cheap Beer?

In truth, there's no clear-cut reason behind why the Red Lion is such a popular name. However, its origins are widely assumed to be heraldic, namely the fact that red lions were a common feature on the many different coats of arms in medieval and early modern England. A savvy innkeeper, wanting to ensure he's on the good side of the bloke who owns the land beneath his feet, could display the local lord's crimson cat above his doorway as a mark of respect and loyalty.

There's also a theory that, like with The Mulberry Tavern, a decree of King James I is behind the name – with the Caledonian monarch alleged to have ordered the Scottish red lion displayed on all public buildings after acceding to the English throne. As a key figure in the history of British unification and a monarch whose life was almost snuffed out by the Gunpowder Plot, James' lasting influence on UK pub names is often overlooked.^[2]

***

Having spent a gruelling few hours doing all of those things that students do during the day,^[3] I felt ready for a drink when the evening rolled around. I called Andy and arranged to meet him in town for some light refreshments.

Sitting squarely in the city centre, The Red Lion fitted the bill nicely. The pub's a pleasure to behold from the outside and is somewhat set back from the city's main thoroughfares (which is why we'd previously missed it during our tours of nearby Norfolk Street and Arundel Gate). Inside, the pub is comprised of two distinctly different sections: a classic, old fashioned lounge area with a pool table and a newer, conservatory-like extension.

Unable to ignore an empty pool table, we wasted three pounds on three frames and Andy stole every one, thereby extending his already significant lead. The only consolation was that the games were snappy and each one ended quickly – unlike the debacle at the initial Red Lion.

We moved into the other room to finish our drinks (two pints of Saxbob Blues, a slightly citrussy session ale that, while not overwhelming, was perfectly drinkable) and both agreed that we were big fans of this particular setting. The hanging fabric and large windows helped to create a modern, light and airy drinking space that gave this otherwise ordinary pub an edge.

As the last drops of ale vanished, we debated what to do next. We decided that the evening shouldn't end with The Red Lion, and so we began to discuss the next pub on our agenda. But that's a story for another blog...

Red Lion pool score: Andy 3-0 Rob

Pubquest pool score: Andy 40-28 Rob 

Pub: The Red Lion (109 Charles Street, S1 2ND)
Rating: 7.5/10
Pint: Saxbob Blues
Brewery: The Sheffield Brewery Company 

NEXT UP: Witnessing a punch-up, at the Horse & Groom...

References:
[1] Most popular pub names, Daily Mail (for the link, click here)

[2] Mark Andrew Pardoe, Pub names – Red Lion, BBC Nottingham, http://www.bbc.co.uk/nottingham/entertainment/pubs/redlion.shtml

[3] "All of those things that students do during the day" is largely taken to mean napping, watching TV, playing on the Xbox, and opening up the laptop and looking at the work that needs doing without ever attempting to complete said work