Pub 26, Day 9 – Noah's Ark

By Rob

The Earth’s orbit around the Sun and the tilt of the planet’s rotational axis are what, in a very real sense, make our summer. They guarantee that everyone’s favourite season is an annual event as inevitable as the next Monday morning. And yet, despite the assured schedule of the seasons, here in the north of England hot summer days are very much like my early sexual experiences: eagerly anticipated, yet distressingly rare and disappointingly brief.

With that in mind, it comes as no surprise that when a day rolls around that brings with it genuinely nice weather, we Brits rush outdoors to bathe in that pleasant, carcinogenic warmth. Andy and I are no exceptions to this, so when such a day finally made an appearance, I received a phone call from my fellow public house connoisseur requesting my presence on yet another leg of this cultural voyage.

However, before heading to the nearest beer garden we decided to finally finish our mammoth game of snooker that we had been playing for a very, very long time. (After all, on a scorching hot day, there’s nothing quite like being indoors, in a dimly lit snooker hall with no windows).

We were playing the first to 18, and the score stood at 17-16 in favour of Andy. It was a game we had, quite literally, been bashing away at for years. I’d like to be able to say that I won the first frame, thus pitting us against one another in a gripping winner-takes-all finale.

But I didn’t.

Thus we closed the door on an important, but ludicrously lengthy, chapter of our lives.

Seeking a place to celebrate Andy’s victory and commiserate my defeat, we headed to the Noah’s Ark in Intake. It’s a family friendly venue with plenty of outdoor seating, a nice beer garden, and a good-sized children’s play area – although given the dazzling weather, we could have been provided with a soiled mattress and an upturned bucket and we would have still enjoyed our visit.

Inside, the pub resembles a typical elderly gentlemen’s drinking hole without much in the way of striking decor. That being said, the Noah’s Ark has seen a notable improvement in recent years. At one time the drinks on offer reflected the furnishings, with just your standard lagers and bitters. However, upon our visit we had the choice of a couple of guest ales and the option to order food. There was also a pool table, which is always a positive.

We decided upon a pint of Directors. This ale, despite its undeniable malty and fruity notes, was hardly the best drink to be sipping in the heat of the sun. As such, we each bought a vodka and coke to have alongside it.

We were joined by our friend Danny, who had just finalised his upcoming travel plans. In just over a month he would be flying out to Thailand, from where he would travel down through Asia, nip across the water to Australia, and then hop over to America before finally landing in Manchester a full six months later. He was very much of the opinion that his fortunes with members of the opposite sex would improve when on foreign soil. I was inclined to agree – the language barriers would certainly work in his favour.

As professional travel bloggers ourselves, deeply committed to cultural exploration – albeit of a more local nature – we wished him every success on his journey and looked forward to his return when we would no doubt be inundated with tales of how he managed to get ignored by women in at least three different time zones.

Sitting there in that very pleasant beer garden, drinking a pint of real ale, it was quite easy to see why the Noah’s Ark was apparently still going strong while other local pubs were struggling. For many years, the Royal Oak had stood just across the road from where we were sat. Unable to compete with its rivals, it recently closed its doors for the last time. In its place now stands a funeral parlour.

A more fitting image would, I think, be hard to find.

Pub: Noah's Ark (197 Mansfield Road, S12 2AL)

Rating: 7/10

Pint: Directors

Brewery: Wells & Young's Brewery (Bedford)

NEXT UP: A post-job-interview-pint, at The Rawson Spring... 

Pub 25, Day 8 – Kelham Island Tavern

By Andy

For me this sums up what Pubquest is all about. You know how sometimes you pop out for a quiet pint and before you know it you're playing a professional snooker player? Well read on...

***

Avid readers will no doubt remember that my uni friends were in town for the week. After an unforgettable night the previous evening at The Fat Cat/Players, we decided to stick with the tried and tested formula and begin in Kelham Island, before heading to town. With The Fat Cat already ticked off, it was over to its long-time competitor, The Kelham Island Tavern.

A duopoly to rival Celtic and Rangers, these two clean up at the CAMRA Sheffield Pub of The Year Awards each year, with the Kelham Island Tavern currently establishing somewhat of a dynasty, winning back-to-back titles in 2014 and 2015. It has also earned national recognition, being crowned CAMRA National Pub of the Year in 2008 and 2009.

A bit roomier than The Fat Cat, the Kelham Island Tavern has the same commendable commitment to great ales and pork pies. Although the decor would give the Changing Rooms team nightmares (its yellow and red interior fails to match its homely feel), the beer garden is the stuff of Ground Force's dreams – a rainforest of plants compete for your senses, making even the darkest of beers dance with a floral flavour. 

Being easily convinced folk, we all opted for a pint of Magic Sponge – an eye-catching pint which chose to forego the typical cardboard logo in favour of sticking a sponge on the pump.

A wise man once suggested to not judge a book by its cover. Presumably, if you bumped into this fella down your local, he would also extol the virtues of not picking a beer by its logo. Happily, on this occasion he would have been wrong – Magic Sponge was a light, golden pint with a subtle toffee taste.

It was at this point that Conor – an aforementioned uni friend – got a phone call: did he want to come to The Common Room for a few frames of pool? With our Magic Sponges absorbed, and with town on the night's agenda, we jumped at the chance.

I should probably give you a bit of background information about Conor: he's a semi-professional snooker player. While the rest of my friends were spending the week on my floor, he was crashing at the Star Snooker Academy, whiling away his days on the baize. 

A few months after our fake trip to Bulgaria, Conor made the journey for real to play in the 2014 European Tour in Sofia, triumphing 4-3 in the second round before bowing out in round three (in a tournament eventually won by Shaun Murphy). So when Conor gets a phone call inviting him for a few frames of pool, you go. You never know who's gonna be there.

We were met at The Common Room by three of India's finest snooker players: Rahul Sachdev (ranked 20^th in India), Himanshu Jain (ranked 17^th in India), and Aditya Mehta (ranked number 1 in India and 49^th in the world). Now I wasn't too bad at snooker either (ranked 59^th in Howden & District Division Two), and as such, I deemed myself ready to compete against the world's best.

Unfortunately, any dreams I had of taking on Aditya Mehta were foiled by the Argentina vs Netherlands World Cup semi-final on the big screen, which he was immersed in. 

Luckily, Himanshu Jain was less of a football fan, and agreed to a frame of pool. Unbeknown to him, after our visit to the Kelham Island Tavern, I was ideally intoxicated – drunk enough to believe I could win, yet sober enough to still see straight.

Despite trailing initially, I sank the last six balls in one break, rolling in the black to receive a pat on the back from a disbelieving Rob. The man whose recognition I truly craved though was still facing the other way, his eyes locked on Lionel Messi. With no desire to waste his time pummelling no-hopers, he again declined my challenge.

Next up I played Rahul Sachdev – a player with his own page on the World Snooker website. Once again I fell behind, only to emerge victorious. This time though, my own ability had nothing to do with it – it all came down to luck. While Rahul was in the middle of a break, he accidentally cannoned into the black, potting it ahead of schedule.

Etiquette dictated that my celebrations remained muted. Rob, apparently unaware of such procedure, sprinted over and hugged me. A win by default is a win nonetheless. 

This time, Mr Mehta couldn't ignore my challenge. Having beaten both of his practice partners, I had earned the right to take on the 49^th best snooker player in the world. 

The parameters were too close to call: he has his own Wikipedia page, I have a profile on the Howden & District League website. His career winnings total £106,233, I once won £8 in a tournament at college. 

After a cagey opening, Aditya left me a half-chance. My common sense urged me to play safe; unfortunately, my imagination was in overdrive. If I potted this, I would be in a commanding position. Would beating Aditya Mehta make me Champion of India?

Me vs Mehta

Predictably, I missed. Even more predictably, Aditya Mehta won. However, he only beat me by two balls, which I was secretly quite proud of. 

And just in case anyone's keeping count, after my exploits against India's finest, and Rob's impressive victory over our Chinese friend Cowboy Keith at Barry's, the Pubquest pool score stands at:

Andy and Rob         3-1         Asia

[Population: 2]                     [Population: ~4,164,252,000]

Not bad. 

Pub: Kelham Island Tavern 
Rating: 8/10
Pint: Magic Sponge

Brewery: Thwaites Brewery (Blackburn)

NEXT UP: Knocking back drinks two-by-two, at the Noah's Ark...

Pub 24, Day 7 – The Fat Cat

By Andy

Anyone who has ever tried organising a holiday for a group of friends knows the problem.

For a year now, me and several mates had been planning to jet off to Bulgaria together in the first week of July.

The eagle-eyed amongst you will have noticed however, that the date and location of this post does not place me in Bulgaria during the first week of July. It places me at Kelham Island.

Admittedly, to an outsider, Kelham Island may sound exotic. It may even sound like you need to book a flight to get there. It is not and you do not.

It is however, home to the greatest concentration of fantastic pubs in the world.

***

With six months to go, there were 6 “definites” for Bulgaria. However, when it came to booking the thing, 2 had failed to get the week off work and one had decided he couldn't afford it after all. Our numbers were halved.

Bulgaria for three seemed like a waste of time. However, seeing as we had all booked the week off work, we decided we may as well meet up for a few drinks. And seeing as Pubquest needed a kick up the backside, I invited Rob along.

Paradoxically, in eschewing Bulgaria for the Fat Cat, we had ticked off number 22 in The New York Times's 52 Places to Go in 2014 (seriously). And I bet nowhere in Bulgaria offers a better pork pie.

The Fat Cat is a brilliant pub. Opened in 1981, it kickstarted Sheffield's ale tradition when it broke away from the breweries. In fact, it's probably fair to say that without The Fat Cat there would be no Pubquest – all pubs in the city would be nigh-on identical and visiting each one would be an exercise in the mundane.

Mercifully, The Fat Cat helped start a revolution which many pubs across the city joined. This is particularly true of the Kelham Island area, which is positively bursting with terrific ale houses. If all pubs offered the variety of beers found in Kelham Island, the Pubquest Bonus Challenge of having a different pint in each pub would be a walk in the park. On this occasion, we opted for Dukeries Gunsmoke, a dark yet strong bitter which kept us coming back for more.

If you visit the Fat Cat, make sure you're hungry. Having already consumed a pork pie, I then opted for a steak and ale pie, before passing up the opportunity of a pie hat-trick by choosing apple crumble. Although the menu is somewhat “pubby”, the food is worthy of a restaurant.

However, all this aside, I do have two complaints about The Fat Cat. My first issue is that it's not very big – on a busy night you can often find yourself trapped, unable to move due to the crowds. My second issue is that it's not in Bulgaria – it isn't surrounded by Sofia's historic buildings, you won't get a tan if you pop outside, it isn't a short journey from Sunny Beach.

Or is it?

You see, it had dawned on us a few days previously that we had never actually told the drop-outs that we weren't going to Bulgaria. One by one, they had cancelled by text, and it was simply presumed that the trip was not going ahead – “no man left behind” and all that. But this was never actually stated – for all they knew we could have continued organising the trip without them.

Miffed that they had cancelled last-minute, and wanting to teach them a lesson, we had formulated a plan. After buying a Bulgarian flag from eBay, our task was now simple: make Kelham Island look like Bulgaria, take a load of photos, and send these to our soon-to-be-jealous friends.

It may come as little surprise that this was no mean feat. Kelham Island, a sprawling industrial estate, is not the most photogenic of places. Now I'm sure there are sprawling industrial estates in Bulgaria too, but these were not the locations we had been planning on visiting.

Our Bulgarian itinerary had consisted primarily of beaches and bars. As there were no beaches within walking distance, we were left with no alternative but to make the Fat Cat and the Kelham Island Tavern look as Bulgarian as possible. This invariably consisted of draping our flag over the fittings, all-the-while attracting angry stares from passing members of staff. Below are our efforts:

Kelham Island Tavern, Sofia

 

     Independence Square, Sofia       Drinking at a bar by the beach

I should probably take this opportunity to remind you that, as convincing as those pictures seem, we were not actually in Bulgaria. If you look very carefully, the middle picture contains yellow lines by the side of the road, which is not a system employed in Eastern Europe.

Ignoring that minor slip-up though, I agree that our pictures were top rate, and unless our friends are experts in Bulgarian road markings, they are bound to have been fooled.

As the night wore on and our photos became steadily more ridiculous, we walked into town and headed for a dancefloor. For some unbeknown reason which baffles me with hindsight, we selected Players as our venue of choice.

(Now here I must state that Players is undisputedly a bar, so merits no entry of its own on Pubquest. If you are upset by this, please feel free to begin Barquest.)

One advantage Players does hold over Kelham Island is that it actually looks like it could be found in touristy Bulgaria – an American-themed bar, barmaids wearing very little, homeless men offering to sell you a plastic rose for £5. With this in mind we redoubled our efforts, waving our flag around and snapchatting all we could to our presumably bemused friends.

The most ridiculous aspect of the night was yet to come though.

It turns out there are only so many times you can unfurl a Bulgarian flag before people begin to presume you're from Bulgaria. Before we knew it, people were inquiring as to what we were doing in Sheffield, and what we made of the British weather. With the speakers far too loud to explain the situation, and with beer coursing through our veins, we opted to play along. However, as none of us had any idea what a Bulgarian accent sounds like, we could only respond with a sequence of grunts and nods, which would no doubt have been deeply offensive had any actual Bulgarians been present.

Then this happened:

Ladies and gentleman, so concluded the most ridiculous night of Pubquest thus far.

Pub: The Fat Cat (23 Alma Street, S3 8SA)

Rating: 9/10

Beer: Gunsmoke

Brewery: Dukeries Brewery (Worksop)

NEXT UP: Playing pool against professionals, at the Kelham Island Tavern...

Pub 23, Day 6 – Frog & Parrot

By Rob

For those of you keeping count, you'll note that by the time we left the Heeley & Sheffield we had each drank four pints. Now, that's not nearly enough to warrant a drunken haze, but four pints do have the cumulative effect of making the recipient a little merrier than usual.

As such, I wanted to stay out. Living in town, it would be ideal to get a tram into the city centre, have a drink, and then walk home from there. For Andy, living just five minutes away from Gleadless Townend, it made sense to end the evening where we were.

So, given our conflicting views on what constituted the best course of action, we did what I wanted.

However, any fantasies I harboured of a wild night on the town transpired to be wildly unrealistic. Instead of hitting the clubs and bars, we found ourselves inexorably drawn to – you might have guessed – a pub. Maybe we were developing a supernatural sixth sense for public houses? Maybe we'd just come to love pubs beyond all measure?

Whatever the reason, we ended up in The Frog & Parrot. A trendy pub on a trendy street, the Frog & Parrot is delightful inside. Smartly decorated, with just the right amount of quirkiness to not be pretentious (a difficult balance to strike), it had a great feel to it. We ordered two pints of Lord Parrot Ale – a drink we could be certain we would not come across again as it was brewed by the pub, in the pub, for the pub.

The increasingly blurred certificates for Roger and Out

When it first opened in 1982, the Frog & Parrot (then called the Prince of Wales) was one of very few Sheffield pubs in which the landlord brewed and sold his own beer on the premises. When it was later bought by Roger Nowill, the brewing process was expanded to five ales. One of these, labelled 'Roger and Out', was so strong that customers were permitted only three glasses a day before being cut-off, with each glass holding only a third of a pint.

After your first drink, you got a certificate. After the second, you were issued with a yellow card. Once you'd downed your third and final glass you had precisely one full pint of the stuff inside you. That earned you the red card.

In June 1988 the ale entered the Guinness Book of World Records as the strongest regularly pulled beer in the world, apparently attracting people from right across the globe.^[1]

The ale we had was considerably less lethal, but enjoyable nonetheless.

While there wasn't any music playing during our visit, from previous attendance I know that the pub often hosts live bands and also serves good food.

Just one of the quirky seating areas in the Frog & Parrot

After sitting on public transport for twenty minutes in order to get to town, we had the pint and then Andy endured a further twenty minutes in order to get home.

That, ladies and gents, is dedication to the cause.

Pub: Frog & Parrot (94 Division Street, S1 4GF)
Rating: 7/10
Beer: Lord Parrot Ale 
Brewery: Frog & Parrot (Homebrew) 

NEXT UP: A trip to Bulgaria, at The Fat Cat...

References:

[1] Peter Tuffrey, Sheffield Pubs; Landlords and Landladies, Fonthill Media, (2012), p.61

Pub 22, Day 6 – Heeley & Sheffield

By Rob

Leaving The Red Lion, and putting the snooker score firmly out of our mind, we stumbled across a rather striking realisation: we were hungry.

While ingesting food is a biological necessity fundamental to the practice of not dying, it takes on added importance when you are drinking pint after pint of beer. So it was that we, in our limitless wisdom, decided to pop into Gleadless Townend’s premier dining establishment – Viva Tequila. Seemingly the brainchild of an entrepreneur who was torn between opening either an Italian restaurant or a Mexican bar, Viva represents the hybrid offspring of this surprisingly fruitful union.

Upon our arrival we secured a table for two, having no trouble seeing as the place was even less busy than the pub we had just left, and settled in for what looked set to be an intimate experience.

The date, for that is essentially what it was, was wonderful. The food was both good and very reasonably priced. The waiter did an excellent job of hiding his initial disquiet and subsequent disbelief when we decided to engage in the charade of pretending we were in a homosexual and deeply romantic relationship with one another.

NB: (For all the women reading this who are between the ages of 20 and 30, I would like to point out that no genuine intimacy took place during our enactment and that I am entirely heterosexual. Alas, I will not say the same for Andy as I just don’t feel comfortable discussing his sexual orientation without his prior permission, so it is probably best to assume that he is unavailable and just message me instead)

If I did have a boyfriend, I'd want him to make more effort on a date

After we had finished our meal and left, we headed over to the Heeley & Sheffield.

I would like to say that this pub was warm and cosy, with a friendly atmosphere and pleasant staff. I would like to tell you that the customers were all jolly old men who shook our hands and welcomed us into their local public house with earnest smiles and fond hellos. I would like to write these things with a sincere hand, but then I’d need to have been inside a different pub.

The pub is obviously too big for purpose. Its six customers were huddled around the bar in the centre of the room, while the rest of it stretched away into dark disuse. They all made a point of turning to look towards the door as it creaked open and we stepped inside. One could be forgiven for thinking the entire scene was being secretly directed by Sergio Leone, as we elicited stares upon entering the old run-down saloon. Fortunately, the pistol duels and bar brawls were kept to a strict minimum.

We ordered two pints of John Smith’s Extra Cold.

Now, you might be thinking that John Smith’s Extra Cold is essentially the same beer as John Smith’s Extra Smooth. You would be thinking wrong. One is marginally colder than the other. In fact, I would go so far as to say that it was extra cold.

Sitting in a corner of the pub, away from the central nucleus of activity, we didn't hang around for very long. In fact, the amount of time we stayed was precisely the number of minutes it takes for a person to drink a pint of John Smith’s.

The Heeley gets a dismal, yet deserved, 3/10.

Pub: Heeley & Sheffield (781 Gleadless Road, S12 2QD)

Rating: 3/10

Pint: John Smith’s Extra Cold      

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

NEXT UP: The strongest beer in the world, at the Frog & Parrot... 

Pub 21, Day 6 – The Red Lion

By Andy

Blinking back into the city lights, we began the steep walk uphill to the first Red Lion of Pubquest, located at Gleadless Townend. Despite looking a bit iffy from the outside, it turned out to be a welcoming pub with a good selection of beers. Opting for Slater's Premium Best Bitter, we headed for the back room, where we discovered The Red Lion's greatest feature... a snooker table!

Rather like the red squirrel, the snooker table faces fierce competition from a more adept species; the pool table. Pool is simpler, easier, and requires a smaller table, so landlords are more inclined to install one. Snooker on the other hand requires a larger table and therefore a greater level of skill. This is evidenced by the fact that I'm decent at pool, yet hopelessly inept at snooker. Still, I prefer the latter.

Were I Prime Minister I may well pass a law making snooker tables mandatory in all pubs. Indeed, I may go a step further and replace the current immigration regulations with a test on which order to pot the colours in snooker. Anyone who knows that is British enough for me.

Now, at this point I should set the scene. For the past three years, me and Rob have been undertaking a mammoth best-of-35-frames snooker match. At the time of our visit to the Red Lion, I held a crushingly one-sided 15-14 lead. The rivalry was there for all to see. Comparisons to Steve Davis vs Dennis Taylor were not far wide of the mark. In front of a hushed crowd (well, an empty pub) we picked up the cues to do battle once more.

Let's pretend that Rob potted this red (he didn't)

I'd love to say that within 20 minutes the table was cleared and a winner was crowned. Unfortunately, this was not the case. An hour later however, the balls were sunk and I had emerged victorious.

Aware that we'd been hogging the snooker table for an exceptionally long period of time, we glanced around. Luckily, the pub was still nigh-on empty. Feeling particularly confident after subjecting Rob to yet another defeat (at 16-14, I had now won a staggering 53% of frames), I suggested one more.

Almost immediately however, things began to go wrong. No sooner had we broken off than a man arrived and asked if he and his friend could play after us. Judging by the fact that he had brought his own cue, it was clear that this man was an infinitely better player than we were, and hour-long scrappy frames were not something he had ever been witness to before.

Noticing the panic-stricken look on our faces, he tried to reassure us. “Don't worry”, he claimed, “we don't mind waiting. The guy I'm playing's not even here yet.” We smiled gamely, but deep down we both knew that his opponent could be travelling from Cornwall by foot and still arrive before we had seen off the reds.

Sure enough, his opponent soon arrived, complete with cue. Perhaps my memory's playing tricks on me, but I think he was even wearing a waistcoat.

Thankfully, the law of averages was on our side. A snooker table is approximately 5% pocket, so after a while passed in which we were bashing balls around, only the pink and black remained. As usual, it was shaping up to be another crushing victory for myself – I was ahead by 1 point.

However, this was where things began to stall. Knowing that the next two balls would decide the frame, and being competitive folk, we proceeded to produce an array of masterful safety shots that would have left Peter Ebdon gushing with pride. Rather predictably, this was not going down well with our two onlookers, who were now growing impatient. At one point, having left the pink perfectly on the top cushion, I turned to receive the audience's adulation, only to be greeted by a very audible tut.

Eventually I sank the pink, giving me a 7-point lead with only the black ball remaining. I'm sure by now you've all worked out what happened next. No? Well, Rob knocked the black in (worth 7 points), meaning that at the end of the frame we were tied. Faced with no other option, and with the mood of the crowd now verging on civil unrest, we took the black ball out of the pocket and placed it back on the table.

The rest of the match was a bit of a blur. Fearful of getting chased out of the pub, we smashed the black around the table until it dropped. Rob emerged victorious. With great haste, we apologised and departed.

Our own snooker abilities aside however, the Red Lion was a lovely pub: 7.5/10.

Red Lion snooker score: Andy 1-1 Rob

Pubquest snooker score: Andy 1-1 Rob

Pub: The Red Lion (972 Gleadless Road, S12 2LL)

Rating: 7.5/10

Beer: Premium Best Bitter    

Brewery: Slater's (Stafford, Staffordshire)

NEXT UP: A beautiful man-date, at the Heeley & Sheffield...

Pub 20, Day 6 – The New Inn

By Rob

Well, I’m pleased to see that Andy has elected to take up his fair share of the blogging. I won’t lie to you, doing this alone has been a difficult burden to shoulder. It might have been easier had I just been writing pointless posts that nobody was ever going to read, but when you’re catering to an innumerable array of avid fans who hang upon your every word, it can be difficult.

Now, back to the Gleadless pub run.

We moved from The Punch Bowl down towards The New Inn. In the interest of fairness, I would like to point out that this is my parents' local pub. They love it. Come hell or high water, when Friday evening rolls around they are in that boozer. My dad loves it because it’s the only pub in the area that offers a good selection of real ales. My mum loves it because she can take her dogs inside and beam with pleasure whenever anybody shows even the remotest interest in them.

As for me, I've always found it to be a friendly little pub that is nicely decorated, warm and welcoming. I think it’s safe to say that, of all the pubs within walking distance from my parents' house, this is easily the nicest one there is.

But, as I said, I’m hardly impartial. 

We ordered ourselves a pint of Spire Brewery’s Dark Side of the Moon, which incidentally is also the name of an album by Pink Floyd as well as being a line in what is unquestionably the best song in Disney’s animated musical Mulan. Of course, this beer might never match the commercial success of Pink Floyd’s album, and will surely never be quite as child-appropriate as Mulan, but it was a nice dark mild with just the slightest hint of toffee in the taste.

I should say that Andy was a good deal less content than I was. As he previously mentioned, The New Inn was not showing the World Cup match. Given that the owners were neither Australian nor Dutch, I found the situation somewhat less incredulous than he did. Additionally, given that I don’t care much about football, I found the situation somewhat less upsetting than he did.

So, the New Inn gets a hearty 8/10 from me. It serves nice beer, the staff are friendly and the pub is small enough to be cosy while still big enough to allow you to find a seat. Overall, the most impressive thing about the pub is that it manages to maintain an almost rural feel to it, despite being in the midst of Sheffield’s suburban sprawl and just thirty seconds from a busy dual carriageway.

Pub: The New Inn (282 Hollinsend Road, S12 2NR)

Rating: 8/10

Beer: Dark Side of the Moon    

Brewery: Spire Brewing Company (Chesterfield)

NEXT UP: Upsetting the locals, at The Red Lion...