By
Rob
19:05
– (25
minutes until the deadline)
Stepping
out of The Albion and into the fading light of London Road, we looked again
at our watches. It was going to be very, very tight. We had to get to The Old Crown Inn, drink a pint, and then reach the Nursery Tavern on
Ecclesall Road by 19:30
hours.
You
might be wondering why, on this occasion, we were so
uncharacteristically concerned with our punctuality – something which
rarely gave us pause on a normal night. Sure, we were meeting people,
but we'd been late before (just think back to The Hallamshire House), so why care?
The
answer came in the form of our mutual friend, Ali.
We'd
been late one too many times, she said. It was not OK to leave her
hanging around pubs, on her own, while we ambled lazily towards her,
she said. If we did it again then there would be hell to pay, she
said.
There
was no doubt in our minds that she meant it.
The
problem was, we were playing a high-stakes game. The whole of London
Road was in the balance. If we made it, we'd have drank a pint in
every pub on London Road – a big achievement for anybody.
But
if we didn't make it, then Ali would be left sitting in the Nursery
Tavern, alone, waiting for us. To make matters worse, the delay would
be down to the fact that we'd been drinking in another pub,
elsewhere. In that scenario, there was every chance that she might
attack and/or kill us.
The
rewards were huge, the risks were massive.
We
decided to go for it.
19:06
After
agreeing on our course of action, we started moving. Fast.
The
buildings whizzed by in a blur as we increased our average walking
speed from 3.5mph to a dizzying 4.2.
19:07
I
wanted to fall to my knees and scream out in despair. I saw Andy
fighting back tears (although he will deny it until his dying day).
We
could see The Old Crown Inn up ahead, warm and inviting.
But
standing between us and it was The Barrel Inn.
Yet
another pub we'd overlooked that had come hurtling towards us from
out of the blue. We were devastated. Our carefully laid plans had
been shot to smithereens, along with any illusions we'd had about
being expert pub-goers.
"What
do we do now?" I asked Andy, hoping he wouldn't hear the squeak
in my voice.
He
turned to look at me with haunted eyes. "I don't know,
Rob," he said, sighing. "I just don't know anymore."
Should
we try and drink in both pubs and still go for the big London Road
prize? If we did that, we would definitely be late, and by a
considerable margin. Ali would crucify us.
Fortunately for our well-being,
we realised that The Barrel Inn was closed! Not permanently, but just
for the evening, which ruled out ticking off London Road.
At
that moment, we knew we had to finish what we'd started. Sure, we'd
have to come back to The Barrell Inn at some point, but we had a job
to do. And that job was just a few yards further up the road.
Without
another word, we raced along the pavement.
19:09
We'd
lost a little time owing to the difficulties along the way, but we
arrived at The Old Crown Inn just 4 minutes after leaving The Albion
(only four times longer than Google's estimated 60 seconds – although
Google Maps doesn't take into account emotional trauma).
There
was a reasonable crowd inside, given that it was a midweek evening,
and a few people standing at the bar. From what we could tell, there
was only one member of staff serving.
Just
our luck.
I
joined the bustle while Andy went and sat down.
19:11
I
was now at the front of the scrum, pressed up against the bar and
nestled in between the elbows of two other, presumably thirsty, older
gentlemen.
Hoping
to get the barman's attention, I went with the tried and tested
'raised eyebrows' routine. When that failed, I employed an old
nightclub classic: putting my money in my hand and visibly resting it
on the bar.
19:12
The
barman was working diligently and serving people as fast as he could,
but the guy only had two hands.
Finally,
after what seemed like an eternity but had, in fact, only been two
and a half minutes, he asked me what I wanted.
Shit.
I'd
been so caught up in the rush that I was woefully unprepared for what
was, in retrospect, an inevitable question. My eyes flicked to the
drinks on offer: no real ales, no obscure stouts, no fancy foreign
pilsners.
Knowing
Andy had a list of all the beers we'd consumed stored away on his
phone, I looked around for him, but he was nowhere in sight. I dared
not leave the bar to find him, for fear of losing my privileged
position at the front of the queue.
Trusting
in fate, I asked for two pints of Cobra: not the most common lager in
the city, but certainly one I'd seen along our journey. I had no idea
if we'd drank it before, but I did know that if we had to go back to
the bar and re-order our drinks, we'd never beat the clock.
Searching
for Andy, I found him in a comfortable looking side room. The pub was
surprisingly large – it certainly didn't look as big from the
outside. The room we were in was cosy, carpeted, and very
traditional. The back room, which was much larger, was mostly wooden
and looked as if it doubled up as a dancefloor. It was easy to
imagine the place putting on a great karaoke come the weekend.
19:14
Andy's
thumb moved like lighting as he flicked his way down the list.
Eventually, his rapidly shifting digit came to a stop and he glanced
up with a smile.
"It's
fine," he announced. "We've not had it".
Weak
with relief, I began to drink the Cobra. A relatively standard lager,
and one found more often in Indian restaurants than in pubs, the
Cobra was actually a big help, as lager goes down quicker than ale.
I
set to work on emptying the glass.
19:16
About
halfway through our drinks, I watched Andy reach across to a nearby
table and pick up a beer mat. With his one free hand, he began to
peel the corner.
"What
are you doing?" I hissed, already knowing where this was going.
"This
is pub number 65," he replied, hard at work on both his drink
and his beer mat. "We have to leave them something."
Like
a man possessed, I lifted my glass and forced myself to drain the
second half of the pint in one almighty gulp.
Fighting
back the urge to burp quite loudly, I snatched the beer mat from Andy
and left him to focus on finishing his drink.
19:17
As
many of you will know, some beer mats peel fantastically. With these,
you get your nail under one corner and then, in one sweet and smooth
motion, the paper comes away. You're left with a pristine, white
square – ready to be drawn upon.
Some
beer mats, however, do not peel well. The paper rips with every pull,
leaving behind a nasty, patchy mess. You find yourself having to
gouge the remaining bits of advertising from the layer beneath with
your finger nails.
This
beer mat fell into the latter camp.
19:18
With
the beer mat finally peeled, I picked up the pen that Andy had –
thankfully – brought with him. With no time to get creative, I
replicated our (my) efforts at The Porter Cottage, investing just enough time to add the necessary
elements.
19:19
Flinging
the makeshift certificate to the table, we took our glasses back to
the bar (even in a mad dash, there's always time for manners) and
left the pub.
We
knew the route. We also knew that it was supposed to take us 14
minutes to get there, and we only had 11. Somehow, we had to make up
3 minutes.
There
was only one thing for it: we would have to walk a little bit faster
than normal.
19:23
We
were walking a bit faster than normal.
19:28
Turns
out that we're actually quite fast walkers. We got to the Nursery
Tavern with 2 minutes to spare...
Rating:
5.5/10
