Nelson Head in Horsey, Sheffield’s Hillsborough Barracks, the Walks, Northern Monkey pub, Warsteiner lager, keg not cask and how not to run a pub

Bar Man weekly pubs column by Jeff Hoyle:

It is always nice to have positive feedback, and when I mentioned the Nelson Head in Horsey, it inspired reader Steve to take the long journey out there.

He wrote “that following your review of the Nelson Head in Horsey, B and I visited it yesterday. Great place, great cider and beer.” I wonder if he would agree with me about a pub we visited in Sheffield? We were staying in a hotel in the Hillsborough area which formed part of the enormous Barracks complex which once occupied the site.

The whole building was once larger than the Walks, at 22 acres and had space for about a thousand men, 300 horses, a parade ground, a football pitch and much more besides. Much of it is now occupied by a supermarket, but much of the original architecture remains. Well worth a visit if you have a bit of spare time while visiting the nearby football ground.

The Northern Monkey is a different animal. Just up the road this microbar specialises in rum, gin and real ale. It is a converted shop and is described by one online guide as one of the most highly rated places in Sheffield.

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It has monkey themed art on the walls, hosts quiz nights and offered a discount when the football was taking place nearby on the Saturday. However, we were in on a Sunday evening, and it didn’t live up to expectations.

Here is a crib sheet of how to ruin a pub experience. We ignored the scallies smoking in the doorway as it seemed that they were on their way. One of the two handpumps on the bar had a hand written piece of paper advertising ‘Best Bitter’. I asked the friendly barman who brewed it, and he started to pour me a pint.

After some clarification, it turned out that he had no idea whose beer it was, but I decided to drink it anyway. His pulling of the handpump became more desperate as each stroke produced a small dribble of beer. He told me that there should be no problem as he had just changed the keg.

I explained that it should be a cask and enquired as to whether he had removed the hard spile. He clearly had no idea what I was talking about and suggested that I go into the cellar and have a look. I declined and, worried that he may be serving me a pint laced with cleaning fluid, opted instead for a pint of Landlord, with a half for the Barwife.

He was apologetic for the confusion and offered me the half on the house, the total being £8.30, which I queried. It turned out that he thought I had also purchased a pint of Warsteiner lager, a mistake that was soon rectified. I have some sympathy for him as while he was trying to serve me, the scallies were back in their grubby ill-fitting tracksuits, their loud hyperactive manner laced with swearwords, and their demands for a taxi to be ordered.

The space behind the bar didn’t seem to be out of bounds to them and whatever they had consumed appeared to have had a rather more interesting effect on them than anything ever did on me. I guess they were also responsible for the music, a rap laced with obscenities, being turned up.

Would I go back? It could be a great place, but with an inexperienced barman deferring to poorly behaved customers, it was not a pleasant environment. The right person in charge would make all the difference, but on this evening, it was a textbook case of how not to run a pub.