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.
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
You act as if I'm the first person in history to get Sean Paul and Paul Daniels mixed up!
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