Pub 154, Day 57 – The Prince of Wales

By Rob

Moving at pace and determined to keep it that way, we headed to The Prince of Wales. We were both hungry and, wishing to maintain momentum, vowed we’d only eat in a pub – there would be no skipping out to KFC mid-session. Therefore, fingers were firmly crossed that the next venue would serve some hot grub.

A pleasant looking stone-built building from the outside, inside the pub was a little more underwhelming. The Christmas decorations, apparently stolen from some bins behind a B&M Bargains warehouse, consisted of sixteen miles of tinsel strewn across the furniture by some mad, blind landlord with flailing arms. The lights, uniformly blue, had inexplicably been set to strobe effect. It gave the impression of being in the middle of a police raid, set to the festive sounds of Wizzard.

Unfortunately, not only did The Prince of Wales not serve food, it barely served beer. We were thus forced to once more imbibe a standard lager: Bud Light. The most commonly purchased and consumed beer in the USA, it stands as testament to the fact that a nation can attain the position of sole global superpower while being made up, for the most part, of fucking idiots.

Sipping our golden fizzy water, mercifully too flavourless to be called piss, with intermittent azure flashes pounding our retinas, and in the absence of any food whatsoever, we quickly necked the drinks and left.

Pub: The Prince of Wales (80 Burncross Road, S35 1SF)

Rating: 3.5/10

Pint: Bud Light

Brewery: Anheuser-Busch (based in St Louis, USA)

NEXT UP: Beginning to starve, at the Crown & Cushion...

Pub 153, Day 57 – Thorncliffe Arms

By Rob

It was 27^th December 2017: exactly one year to the day that we’d attempted to complete the Chapeltown pub crawl. Back then, we’d vastly underestimated the number of pubs in that part of the city. Having visited a healthy 7 in one evening, we’d departed with another 6 still to do.

Arriving at Chapeltown train station once again, we had mixed hopes for the evening. While it’d been great fun the previous year, we knew sequels rarely measured up to the original. Like Terminator 2, The Dark Knight, and quite possibly Aliens, we were hoping to defy the pattern.

First up, we arrived at the Thorncliffe Arms – just a stone’s throw from the station. Inside and out, it wasn’t an especially striking or memorable venue. Spacious, modern, with the air of a chain pub, it was perfectly pleasant. To its credit were a pool table and a not entirely atrocious beer selection.

We each ordered a pint of Golden Ale from the Open Gate Brewery. The beer was typical of Guinness’ forays into lighter ales – sweet and lightly hoppy. Much like the pub in which we consumed it: the pint was perfectly fine, but nothing to write about.

Of course, if Andy and I never wrote about things that are nothing to write about, we’d never write anything at all...

Pub: Thorncliffe Arms (26 Burncross Road, S35 1SF)

Rating: 5.5/10

Pint: Golden Ale

Brewery: Guinness Open Gate Brewery (Dublin)

NEXT UP: Searching for food, at The Prince of Wales... 

Pub 152, Day 56 – Hen & Chickens

By Rob

We’d been to some rough pubs. We’d been to boozers that we didn’t want to step inside, that we couldn’t wait to leave, and that made us re-evaluate the necessity and sense of visiting every pub in the city.

But the rules, however self-imposed, were clear. Nowhere was off-limits. All before us must be conquered. And so it was that we found ourselves visiting one of the places we’d managed to avoid thus far. We were fast running out of pubs in the city centre, and could put it off no longer.

The Hen & Chickens, which each of us had passed previously on the bus, had always looked particularly terrifying – even from the safety of a moving vehicle. Situated halfway down a narrow, dark alleyway in one of the less salubrious parts of the city centre, with an ever-present group of blokes standing outside the entrance, the visuals alone would be enough to dissuade most.

Its reputation matched the aesthetic. Ever since the notorious Cannon (across the road) had closed its doors, the Hen & Chickens had become known as the go-to spot for picking up things that had toppled from the back of HGVs. On our way over from the Old Queens Head, we had a quick scan of the Sheffield forums for any mention of the pub. Here are some personal favourites, quoted verbatim:

“The market leading watering hole for chav scum since the demise of the Cannon”.

“Noticed more than the usual swarm of repellent pondlife in the area.”

“There is no way I would venture down that alley, even if I had a death wish.”

“There's literally a police car parked outside on Street View.”

“It looks as rough as arseholes.”

“They don't take card. Apart from that it's okay.”

A mixed bag, I think you’ll agree.

Naturally, we were bricking it. Our only hope was that, as it was Boxing Day, the festive cheer would soften some of the harder characters. I was also a little unsure as to whether this was, really, the best place to take my younger sister for a Christmas drink. But then again, she’d recently purchased a pretty impressive gaming PC and, should she meet her demise, I stood to inherit.

We arrived at the top of the alleyway, administered last rites, and walked towards the pub. There were a few blokes outside smoking, but they largely ignored us as we slipped through the doors. Inside, it looked exactly as we’d imagined. The music was blaring, disco lights were flashing, and the somewhat shabby taproom was decorated with large, inflatable Santas and snowmen. A few people were sat at the other end of the room, and a couple of women were flinging themselves around on the dancefloor – clearly pissed and enjoying the holidays (as they ought to).

At the bar, we were deeply unsurprised to discover no guest ales. As expected, we were faced with a challenging beer choice. Could this, finally, be the time we had to repeat a pint? Would pub 152 be where the bonus challenge ended?

Not a chance.

We each ordered a bottle of Magners Original Apple cider, which we’d somehow managed to avoid thus far. Neither of us could believe we hadn’t already ticked this one off, but a quick scan of the list showed we were safe.

We sat ourselves down on some stools and, within minutes, a couple of regulars staggered over and started making conversation. Unlike our dodgy encounter in the Hollin Bush, the clientele of the Hen & Chickens were especially friendly (in a decidedly non-scary way). The atmosphere was, indeed, one of drunken festivity and, to our great relief, nobody tried selling us a job lot of Gillette razors. Despite the pub’s fearsome reputation, we had a perfectly nice time there – although we didn’t hang around after our one drink, just in case the situation changed.

While the Hen & Chickens still definitely looks like a ropey establishment, and while I imagine it still has its moments, we can only rate the pub on the experience we had. Unfortunately for them, that still only gets a 4.

Yes, we were pleasantly surprised by the reception we received, but you don’t get extra points for not hosting a stabbing. Meanwhile, the interior and range of beers were both notably subpar.

Pub: Hen & Chickens (3 Castle Green, S3 8LX)

Rating: 4/10

Pint: Magners Original Apple

Brewery: Magners (Clonmel, Ireland)

NEXT UP: Our annual trip to Chapeltown, at the Thorncliffe Arms... 

Pub 151, Day 56 – Old Queens Head

By Rob

How dost thou, most beloved reader? Tis time for thee to heareth a noble tale, of two valorous and princely gentlemen, whom didst and doth frequent manifold inns. Upon this occasion, thee wilt findeth them in the Hawle at the Poandes, partaking each in pots of ale.

The above paragraph gives you a taste of just how annoying it might have been if I’d written this entire post in faux-Shakespearian English, as I’d originally planned.

'Why would you do something so painfully irritating and pointless,' you ask?

Because the pub in question is one of the oldest buildings in Sheffield, dating from c. 1475. It first appeared in the written sources in 1582, in an inventory of the estate of George Talbot, the 6^th Earl of Shrewsbury. It was there recorded as the ‘Hawle at the Poandes’ (Hall i’ th’ Ponds), and was likely used as a dining hall for those well-heeled gents hunting waterfowl at the local ponds.^[1] The birds could be found in the now-vanished waters that formed at the confluence of Porter Brook and the River Sheaf, from which Pond Hill and Pond Street get their names.

Having finished up at the Lord Nelson, we all (Andy, Beki and I) headed over to the Old Queens Head. Now, your first impression of the pub will likely depend upon the direction from which you approach it. If you’re arriving from the west, walking up Pond Hill, then you’ll see a deeply unimpressive building squatting next to the bus interchange. From the other direction, however, you will be greeted by a splendid timber-framed pub, the antiquity of which is immediately apparent. This is because the pub, which was originally limited to the nondescript development, eventually expanded into the Grade II* listed building next door.

Inside, it’s fair to say the pub isn’t quite so impressive. This isn’t to say there aren’t some fantastic features: the wooden roof beams, carved figurines, and old fireplace are all worth seeing. However, much of the pub is located inside the newer building and, as such, looks pretty standard. The section within the older part, while much more striking, seemed to be a dining area. I couldn’t help but think that some big armchairs and a roaring fire would’ve looked more at home than menus, condiments and napkins.

Once at the bar, we were pleased to see a few cask pumps with guest ales on offer. We each opted for a pint of Santa’s Swallie – a delightfully sweet tasting beer that left a warm, gingery spice at the back of the throat.

Beki, meanwhile, was at a loss. She had no idea what to order. She couldn’t decide whether to continue on the beer, or start on the spirits. The barman clearly wanted to know whether he should pour two, or three, pints.

Two beer, or not two beer, that was the question.

Pub: Old Queens Head (40 Pond Hill, S1 2BG)

Rating: 6.5/10

Pint: Santa’s Swallie

Brewery: Inverlamond Brewery (Perth)

NEXT UP: The scariest pub in Sheffield, at the Hen & Chickens...

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[1] Old Queens Head, https://www.theoldqueenshead.co.uk/

Pub 150, Day 56 – Lord Nelson

By Andy

There are a handful of pubs around Bramall Lane whose trade is so intrinsically linked to matchdays, that it seems a shame to go at any other time.

(We learnt this the hard way when we went to the Railway Hotel on a random weeknight, and the landlord seemed annoyed that he had to look up from his newspaper to pour our pints.)

With Rob's knowledge of football being non-existent, it falls to me to arrange these visits. I selected Boxing Day as we would both be in Sheffield, and I wouldn't have work the next day – the perfect opportunity for a few post-match pints.

The plan was simple: I would be at the match, Rob would not. Therefore, Rob would arrive at the Lord Nelson before the game finished, buying a round and beating the queue.

“Right, the game kicks off at 3, so it's important you get to the pub before 5,” I explained. “The place will be dead, you can get a round in, and we'll be on to the next pub in no time. But if you turn up after 5, we won't even get served until 6...”

Rob nodded, but I wasn't sure it had quite sunk in, so I doubled down.

“Just set off in plenty of time,” I pleaded, looking him in the eye like you would a child. “The Lord Nelson can be quite difficult to find...”

***

It was 5:30, and I was stood in a queue – nay, a mob – at the Lord Nelson. Rob meanwhile, was wandering the streets lost.

Thankfully, I had developed a useful strategy for queueing amongst your fellow football fans – smile at them, befriend them, ask if they enjoyed the game. Then, when they're distracted and telling you they're delighted United won because it was their first game since their dad died blah blah blah; cut in front of them. Yes pal, we're all Blades, but some of us want to get served before New Year's.

Just as I reached the bar, my phone started ringing. Unfortunately, the crush of people meant I had no chance of answering it, so my only option was to shift my weight slightly to stop it vibrating against the guy next to me, who was beginning to give me funny looks.

I purchased two pints of Mahou, deeming it to be both a suitable lager for football and a lesser-spotted beer for Pubquest.

Fighting my way from the bar, I saw Rob at the door. He was with his sister, Beki.

“I've brought my sister, Beki,” he said, helpfully. “I tried to call to let you know.”

“Ah,” I said, handing a Mahou to Rob and keeping one for me.

A gentleman such as myself should have given his drink to Beki, and rejoined the back of the queue. A caring big brother such as Rob should definitely have given his drink to Beki, and gone to buy another.

Neither of the above transpired, leaving Beki – approximately 5 foot 2 – to push her way into a mob of several dozen overweight football fans.

Although Rob felt slightly bad, I quickly reminded him that we once left Rob's other sister, Reanna, alone at a bus stop in Birley at night, and this dereliction of big brother duty was relatively minor in comparison.

Suitably comforted, we began our Mahou – a pleasant lager, but one that felt more suited to July in Madrid rather than December on Arundel Street.

However, even though the lager didn't quite hit the spot, we both agreed the Lord Nelson was an enjoyable visit. It seemed to make the transition from pleasant pub to raucous boozer with ease, keeping everybody happy. Inside, there were comfortable seating areas and several guest ales; while outside there was plenty of standing room and ample opportunity to shout abuse at passing away fans.

Just as we finished our drinks, Beki finally returned with her pint.

“C'mon, share it out,” asserted Rob, pouring a third of the beer into his glass, then a third into mine. “We'd do the same for you.”

Pub: Lord Nelson (166 Arundel Street, S1 4RE)

Rating: 7/10

Pint: Mahou

Brewery: Mahou (based in Madrid)

NEXT UP: The oldest pub in Sheffield, at the Old Queens Head...

Pub 149, Day 55 – The Stag

By Rob

Continuing our Christmas Eve visit to Woodhouse, we left The Royal and headed towards The Stag.

It was a reasonably large pub; equipped with a pool table, dancefloor, and serving food late into the evening. By the time we’d arrived, however, the kitchen was well and truly closed. The hour was fast approaching Christmas Day and, while the sound of bells is magical to children on that festive night, it’s an unwelcome noise to those hoping to beat last orders.

Fortunately, The Stag seemed to have no intention of closing. On the contrary, the party appeared to be in full swing. We made our way into the taproom, where the music was thumping, disco lights were whirring, and the good people of Woodhouse were drinking and dancing.

Looking to join them in at least one of those endeavours, Andy and I headed over to the bar. The beer range was pretty dire, meaning we were left to scrutinise the fridges to find something acceptable. Thankfully, we spied a bottle of Kier’s Cloudy Apple Cider, from Bulmers. With a pint in each bottle, we ordered two of the things and then proceeded to wince our way through them. It was alcoholic apple juice, basically, which was precisely as unpleasant as we’d expected.

Overall, The Stag wasn’t anything special. It was a bit rough around the edges and didn’t offer an amazing selection of beers; but the atmosphere was fantastic, the locals and the staff were friendly, and it ended up as an enjoyable spot to bring in Christmas Day.

Pub: The Stag (40 Market Square, S13 7JX)

Rating: 4/10

Pint: Kier’s Cloudy Apple Cider

Brewery: H. P. Bulmer (Hereford)

NEXT UP: Matchday, at the Lord Nelson...

Pub 148, Day 55 – The Royal

By Rob

T’was the night before Christmas,

and we were all in the pub.

No, this isn’t the beginning of yet another spin on the classic rhyme (we did that already!). It was actually Christmas Eve and we were very much in the pub.

The pub in question was The Royal, in Woodhouse. We’d met up with a group of old school friends and, as always, seized an opportunity to infuse the evening with some Pubquest magic. We were all alumni of the late, great City School: a peerless educational establishment with leaking, creaking buildings, bottle green uniforms and terrible Ofsted reports. Although no longer in existence, it had once been the pride of Woodhouse – and so it was to Woodhouse we returned.^[1]

I really liked The Royal. It wasn’t anything special, but it was traditional, warm, and friendly. Carpets and classic pub seating, no pointless and enormous empty space, and no stripped-back wooden floors – it was the perfect setting for Christmas Eve drinks.

Some of the locals had clearly been hitting the sauce. We had several exchanges with an extremely friendly old bloke who recurrently appeared throughout our stay, the details of which are lost to us on account of his dialect having been rendered unintelligible by a certain brewery in Tadcaster.

The beer range wasn’t amazing, but there were a couple of guest ales on. We each ordered a pint of Rocking Rudolph, a rather pleasant malty and fruity festive beer from Hardys & Hansons.

The reminiscing got underway, as did the drinking, and we polished off several more pints before departing on to the next place. Getting steadily wrecked on Christmas Eve might not sound very festive, but then consider that Father Christmas himself gets loaded on sherry and proceeds to drive all night.

Pub: The Royal (10 Market Square, S13 7JX)

Rating: 7/10

Pint: Rocking Rudolph

Brewery: Hardys & Hansons (Kimberly, Nottinghamshire) (no longer trading)

NEXT UP: Christmas morning, at The Stag...

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[1] I imagine you’re wondering what sort of people two serial bloggers hung around with at school. Just imagine the coolest kids you can think of and then remove them from the scene entirely.