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
No comments:
Post a Comment