Tuesday 9 December 2014

Train and Truck

Last winter - from December onwards at least - was a complete washout as far as hillwalking went, and consequently postings on here were sporadic. Compared to how infrequently I trouble Blogger these days mind you, the place was positively buzzing. I kind of blame my full on embracing of Facebook. It's an awful lot easier to click a "like" button and approve of something someone else has said on the internet than it is to think up stuff of your own.

Given last weekend's somewhat damp adventure, and the doom laden weather forecast we're getting this week - weather bomb, anyone? - it occurred to me that things are likely to get progressively worse without the Munro-bagging (as it were) impetus for recording things online, so before we grind to a terminal halt I decided to stick up a post about a different away from home jaunt.

Gird your loins then for some photies of...Sheffield.

The story is, me and Gordon, having been more than a little impressed by the musical stylings of the great bunch of Canadian lads known as Monster Truck when they played King Tut's earlier in the year were on the lookout for a repeat experience. Initially there was some excitement when we established they were to be playing the Enormodome in Dublin as a support band for Slash. Further analysis revealed that although it was doable (as a kind of joint birthday treat/indulgence/frolic) it was a Tuesday night show which was rather going to involve about three days off work. Two to travel, one to recover. At least one to recover, in my case - I know what Dublin can do to a chap. Then they announced some lower key - much, much lower key - headline gigs, including a night at The Corporation in Sheffield. On a Saturday. Well now. A mere £12 for a ticket for the show. A jolly reasonable rate for a twin room in Jury's in the City Centre. And a fleeting six hours away on the train.

"Train? What kind of train?", I hear the more astute of youse ask.


The journey was over in the blink of an eye.

Glasgow Central

Not Glasgow Central. Not twenty to eleven any more, either.

Well, not really. But at least all the carriages were open on the way down, in stark contrast to the return journey. I spent some time wondering quite how angry I would get if I'd spent £500 for a first class ticket between Sheffield and Glasgow, only to find myself standing the whole way in the aisle of the second class section. Ach, still, they were probably rich, and needed some character building.

I digress. The first thing that strikes you when you alight at Sheffield is - fountainy stuff. They do like a nice water feature in Britain's fourth biggest city.

The highly excellent news was that we still had about four hours to kill before the show, so the choice was to either (a) find the hotel, unpack, get showered, organised and have a leisurely meal to prepare ourselves for the evening's probable alcohol consumption; or (b) go to the pub.

And let me tell you, we made the right choice. The Rutland Arms is a cracking pub. The moment you wander into a bar in a strange city, find a proper jukebox and discover it's got a song on it by the completely obscure band that you're going to see that very night, you know you're onto a winner. There's even urban art on the wall next to it, for ease of recognition when you're a bit tipsy later on...

...which state we did kind of achieve.

More later. Did I mention the great jukebox?



  1. I'm betting hints of Purple with just a lingering whiff of ZZTop. Guid,but !
    (did I say this before ?)

    1. In the dim and distant past I think we agreed it wasn't an ENTIRELY original sound, but that it still worked. Certainly works well enough for me. Long time since I've travelled more than about 20 miles to see a pop combo!