By
Rob
A
few weeks ago, I was visiting my parents when my mum asked if I'd
ever been to The Bessemer.
"Mother,"
I replied, "you're fully aware that I've been to many pubs
throughout this fair city. I've been to places that stand upon the very edge of Sheffield's borders.
So, of course I've been to The Bessemer, as it's located in the
centre of town. It would be ludicrous to entertain the notion that
I've not been there and, frankly, I'm embarrassed that you even
thought to ask me."
As
my mum sat there, sipping her tea and wishing – once again – that
she'd understood the importance of contraception all those years ago,
she explained that the reason she'd asked about The Bessemer was that
she'd recently been there for a night out with some friends.
When
I asked for her opinion of the venue, she launched into a speech
about how fantastic the place was and how, along with her peers,
she'd had an amazing time there.
I
was quite surprised. I hadn't seen her this enthusiastic since the
day I moved out.
As
she continued to lavish praise upon the venue, I cast my mind back to
my (thankfully recent) visit...
***
Situated
next to Leopold Square, The Bessemer was a large venue and probably
not a pub at all. In fact, both Andy and I were fairly confident that
we were heading to a bar, but the small kernels of doubt in our minds
– coupled with our own stupid rules – rendered us unable to avoid it.
The
journey was a short one from our spot in The Museum (directly across the road). Once there, we headed to the
bar and ordered two pints of Lancaster Bomber. A staple from
Marston's, this chestnut ale was slightly hoppy and thoroughly
enjoyable.
The
Bessemer held a special place in my heart. When I turned 18, it was
the first stop on my first ever night out (although back then it was
called The Fountain). Andy had been there that night, and here he was
again almost seven years later. It occurred to me that I needed some
new friends.
The
place didn't look too different this time around. It was still
relatively well-decorated, looking like a slightly improved
Wetherspoons. There was very little of the 'pub vibe' to be found
(although the same can often be said about a Wetherspoons).
Looking
around, it was clear to see that eighteen-year-olds frequented the
place no longer. In fact, the clientele was almost exclusively made
up of middle-aged women.
But
not just any middle-aged women.
These
weren't the gin-drinking, wine-tasting, cocktail-purchasing type of
middle-aged women. No, these were the pitcher-swigging,
pint-draining, shot-downing type of middle-aged women. Dinner ladies
off-duty, getting tanked up on ale before heading to Reflex where
they 'ironically' dance on the poles and don pink, sparkling cowboy
hats, before ending the night in Chubbys with a large doner kebab.
I
saw a Sandra stumble over a Barbra, while a Denise whooped and
hollered at a Pauline. Meanwhile, a somewhat unsteady Julie tried to
convince her friend Sue that she could, indeed, finish the pint that
Dawn had bought for her without being sick and ruining the night for
Sharon.
Hoots
and howls, screams and giggles. Chanting and swearing, mixed with
crying and laughter. The sounds of middle-aged shenanigans filled the
air, enveloping me...
***
...
As I was brought back to the present, I blinked away the madness and
sipped at my tea.
"So
yeah," my mum concluded. "I loved it there."
Having
now thought about it, I wasn't surprised at all.
Pub: The Bessemer (58
Leopold St, Sheffield S1 2GZ)
Rating:
7/10
Pint: Lancaster Bomber
Brewery: Marston's Brewery (Wolverhampton)
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