Hello folks.
regular and more astute readers may be aware that since my stroke and more so since my recent brain injury, memories, whatever they are, have not been very high up on my agenda. Longer term readers may also note that throughout the nearly ten year history of my blog, accurate memories of liquids consumed and other aspects of crapulence have thus far regularly escaped me, or at the very least, presented themselves in my memory through a dizzying, contorted haze. So last night, when it took me an hour to find and recall the name of Yorkshiremen the grumbleweeds (not a pub), I was prompted to write.
Although, I can't remember what about....
Am kidding, obvs, but the main inspiration for this guesswork stemmed from a chat I was having with the lovely Vikkie and Matthew the other night. We talked at length about the downfall of pubs near where I used to work, starting with the Crinoline Bridge, now a cafe, and then on to a now demolished pub in Rotherham near the station. I was certain it wasn't called the station, and I remembered the awful seventies sun lounge decor that befell it prior to its closure and then demolition, but I couldn't remember its name. It was, of course, the Phoenix. It was on the bridge facing the steps down to the station. Vikkie occasionally used to pop in very briefly for a lager (in the absence of anything else) prior to meeting Matthew to catch a train. I only went in once, under the ownership of what may have been Turkish folk, finding that they sold absolutely nothing that I wanted It is alleged that if I had wanted to buy drugs or partake of prostitutional services the venue would have suited me more, but I realise, these are only allegations. No doubt unrelated to its soon to follow closure.....
We also discussed the demise of the nearby Kingfisher Old Mill pub which I used to enjoy popping into at dinnertime or sometimes after work when I worked nearby. Although I did not know it had also closed down, and I seemed to have removed a whole slab of memory, including its notorious period as a bikers pub, knowledge which, like with so many things, appeared to have escaped me.
Then there was my discussion with WK today about National Inventory pubs, an area which I usually do very well in, but which lead to confusion about the definition of parlour pubs and the number of times I have successfully visited the Sun Inn at Leintwardine - it was only once, on the same weekend the landlady died, and we got chatting to a man obsessed with such excellent pubs in the living room. I recall we liked the beer - very much. Not enough to recall its name however......(although it may have been Hobsons Bitter)
The main example of pub name tomfoolery came at the Bath Hotel about twelve years ago - it was probably in 2007 as I was working at Milton House at the time, although in the flooding in June my company that night had already moved to work next to the river so it could have been 2006....
We had already discussed, and failed to name all, of the Wentworth monuments. I can still recall Hoober Stand and the Needles Eye but as well as the small building which we managed, I can't remember now, and neither if us then, the name of the other high tower. This inspired us into a chat about local pubs and we wandered into a self filled sump of knowledge free flailing by wanting to know the name of the pub in Midshopestones outside Sheffield. With neither of our memories obviously working, between us we decided the pub "obviously" had an agricultural themed name.
And so followed, amongst many many others: The Cow and Tractor, The Horse and Groom, the Fox and Chickens, the Hay Bail, The Swan and Ducklings, The Farmstead, The Wheat Arms, The Plough and Farrow...and so our guesswork went on. Indeed, this borderline mesmerising lack of knowledge went on for a horrific fifty minutes until, replacement pints in, a colleague from work wandered in. Quick as a flash I asked "hey man, what is the name of that pub in Midhopestones outside Stocksbridge?"
After a quick thought he said "its the Midhopestones Arms".
And it was. I mean, I know it changed to the Old Mustard Pot and I admit I have no idea of its current status, but in effect myself and Mr P had spent an hour of our valuable drinking time trying to imagine the nomenclature of a pub in Midhopestones whose identity was given away by that fact alone.
And then there is the amount of time it still takes me to remember crayfish......
I have, I feel I ought to point out, been receiving and engaging in substantial support from SCBIRT (The Sheffield Community Brain Injury Team, or similar) in Upperthorpe, and although I thought I struggled in the tests carried out they confirmed that my performance was of a high quality, and suggested I could regain almost all of my background memories in the next four years. I would very much like to still be writing in that time, as well of course, of subsisting on the abject malfeasance of alcohol.
In the meantime I would ask you to perhaps afford me a modicum of misrememberance. And mispelling. And indeed other grammatical missuses......
Your very best of health
Wee Beefy
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