Mission Aborted – Now With New And Improved Pub Crawl

Today’s plan is straightforward. Tim, Clarkey and I will be meeting Jenny at Sheffield station, while Julia heads off to check in to her hotel, as she’s attending a function at Bramall Lane tonight. Except Jenny rings me just past Chesterfield to tell us the game’s off, due to a waterlogged pitch. The weather’s been pretty miserable, with a very thin covering of snow the further north we’ve gone, but nothing to suggest a postponement.

Still, we’re flexible. Julia discovers a friend of hers is shopping in Sheffield, so goes off for lunch with her, while the rest of us meet Jenny in the Tap and decide on a route for a crawl. As Wednesday are at Birmingham in the FA Cup today, this would give us a clear run at pubs like the Hillsborough Hotel, which we’d never usually visit. I ring Ted, to let him know our game’s off. ‘Why don’t you try the Hillsborough Hotel?’ he suggests.

So we plan on the New Barrack Tavern, the Hillsborough Hotel and the University Arms. The New Barrack Tavern is a short trudge down the hill from the Bamforth Street tram stop, and it’s pretty quiet when we arrive. It’s another of the Castle Rock chain, like our old favourite the Vat And Fiddle in Nottingham, and it has a fine selection of their beers on. We settle in the front room and tuck in to bacon, Stilton and mango chutney baguettes. Clarkey’s theme of the afternoon is couples who go out and never say a word to each other, as there’s one sitting in the other room. He’s distracted from his musings when I get a phone call from Ted, who’s in Nailsworth, watching Darlo play Forest Green. ‘Control to Clarkey! Control to Clarkey!’ Apparently, they have a female assistant referee running the line, one he hasn’t seen before, and she’s rather nice. If you’re a connoisseur of such things...

At the Hillsborough Hotel, the plan is to meet up with Tim’s chum, Andy, who’s been running errands. Unfortunately, despite giving him instructions on how to find us, he doesn’t turn up. He’s made it as far as the correct tram stop, then nothing. For all I know, he’s probably still wandering round S6 now...

Tim leaves to catch a train that will get him back into London in time to attend a preview performance of a friend’s play. Clarkey, Jenny and I head for the University Arms, managing to walk straight past it at the first attempt, as it looks more like a university lodge (which it probably once was) than a pub. On the way, we pass the Harley, which describes itself, charmingly, as ‘Sheffield’s home of live music and gin’. A combination you can’t argue with.

The University Arms has been recently refurbished, hence the smell of fresh paint, but it has a definite vibe, and it’s a place we’ll certainly revisit in future. (We’d visit the other two again, but it all depends on where Wednesday are).

Back in London, I go to meet Ted and John Wilson in the Euston Tap. John has to leave once he’s finished his pint, but Ted and I are joined in due course by Paul Dennis and his friend Accrington Dave (to distinguish him from Charlton Dave). A nice, convivial end to an unexpectedly football-free day.

Confessions Of A Neutral Supporter Part Eight

Why visit one great seat of learning a week when you can visit two? That’s my excuse for why I’m standing in the rain by the side of the dual carriageway at Bromley-by-Bow station, waiting for Howard to pick us up for the journey to Cambridge. Darlo should have played there the Saturday before Christmas, but the game was snowed off and rescheduled for tonight.

The route out of East London takes us past the Olympic Park, and I get my first close-up view of the main stadium. Speaking with plenty of experience of watching football from the other side of a running track, West Ham fans are going to hate playing there, but it’s a mighty impressive sight, as are the rest of the new buildings.

It’s a smooth route until we get to the outskirts of Cambridge, at which point the signs for the ring road apparently ‘just disappear’ and we find ourselves in the heart of the city, rather than out by the ground. Fortunately, the streets are slightly more pedestrian-unfriendly than the centre of Oxford, without barriers blocking our way, so we eventually get back on the right track. At the R.Costings Abbey Stadium, Ted goes to get his press pass, then orders a taxi to take the three of us back into the city. His plan is to go drinking at the Cambridge Blue, then on to the Devonshire Arms. Howard fancies a spot of light retail therapy, beginning in the Amnesty Book shop just down the road from our dropping-off point, while I wander into the centre to take a look at all the historic buildings. Kings College, even from the road, is unbelievably impressive, even to a redbrick-educated oik like my good self, and if the weather was better I’d have a stroll along the Backs, down to the river. Instead, I nip into Lakeland (becoming probably the only supporter ever to get a cast-iron baking tray into a football ground without problems), then have a warming latte in a coffee shop whose clientele appear to be 90 per cent essay-writing students ekeing out a small coffee for as long as humanly possible and 10 per cent their tutors.

Joining Ted at the Devonshire Arms, I learn the Cambridge Blue is shut for refurbishment. He’s made himself comfy here and has been joined by John Wilson. In due course, our rag-tag band acquires Howard (who caught me in the Market Square earlier, buying old-fashioned sweeties, though I passed on the delightful Wills and Kate commemorative tea towel, which would have made a great raffle prize if I’d seen it a week earlier), John’s mate Rockabilly Steve, Paul Brown and Iain Swallwell. When it turns out the Live And Let Live, the final stop on Ted’s itinerary, opens later than advertised, he decides to give it a miss and stay where we are. Personally, I don’t see the need to go anywhere else. The Devonshire is the latest pub in the same chain that includes the Pembury Tavern in Hackney, and it’s a gem. The bar staff are chatty and friendly, as are the customers, and the food’s good, too.

From there, it’s a good trot out to the stadium, across the dimly-lit park, but we arrive in good time for Ted to set up his camera equipment. There’s a small but hardy band of Darlo fans, including Martin and the legendary Darlo Neil, who I haven’t seen in a while. Sitting in front of us are an old and incredibly posh but really sweet couple from somewhere in Hampshire, who should really be sporting rattles and bobble hats. They don’t get to see the team much, apparently, but they have a great time tonight.

The Cambridge Tannoy announcer has the task of letting everyone know that there’s some offer meaning if the U’s Luke Berry is first scorer, supporters are entitled to a free ‘big-ass burrito’ at a local Mexican restaurant. There’s much merriment at his attempts to pronounce it politely. Within the first few minutes, though, there’s a chance the offer will be claimed, as Cambridge win a penalty and Berry steps up to take it. He doesn’t look too confident, which isn’t surprising as Cambridge are on a poor run, with some financial turmoil behind the scenes, and his shot is easily saved by Sam Russell. Darlo get into the game as the half progresses, but though they create a couple of decent chances, the score is nil-nil at half time.

There’s not much in the way of half-time entertainment, apart from another amusing reminder of the burrito offer. Ted samples the bacon rolls, which he says are decent enough, but not quite up to the standards of the days when, along with the hot pork rolls at Lincoln, they set the standard for lower league catering.

Darlo take the lead early in the second half, Gary Smith heading in a nice cross past former Darlo keeper Simon Brown. After that, they should really go on and take total control of this game. They have a couple of decent players in the shape of the experienced Marc Bridge-Wilkinson and Aman Verma, who’s on loan from Leicester, but they seem to lack the ruthless edge that should see them kill a fairly toothless Cambridge off.

Despite everything, the Cambridge fans are in good voice. The ‘Amber Army’ behind the far goal keep up a sustained burst of Bob Marley’s Three Little Birds, accompanied by the kind of steady drumbeat that used to set the pace for Roman galley slaves. ‘Don’t worry about a thing, ’cos every little thing’s going to be all right...’ Unfortunately for them, it’s all right for Darlo – on the pitch at least, as they see the game out pretty comfortably.

However, on the way out, we spot Gavin, who’s usually a beacon of gloom, muttering about new financial woes at Darlington. It quickly becomes apparent that he’s serious, with problems between Darlo’s chairman, Raj Singh, and the holding company who own the club. The news puts a damper on what’s generally been a very pleasant evening.

Howard’s got a carful on the way back, giving lifts to those who need to go south of the river. The fact he gets lost on the way back is surely God’s way of telling him he needs a sat-nav. Still, we’re dropped off in Bow at a reasonable time – all mid-week trips should be as civilised as this...