I have never... been to The Great Gatsby

I've realised upon writing this title that I've never actually read the Great Gatsby. Which could count I suppose for another week if I'm running out of ideas.

This is a Sheffield never have though and I had never been in the Great Gatsby (well I don't think I have but I was very drunk on Pub Scrawl the other year so may have blanked it out) and I've never seen the Jar Family. So last Friday I did both.

The Great Gatsby is a perfectly good pub on Division Street staffed largely by, what I now understand to be termed, Hipsters. They have tattoos, beards and quiffs. Well the men anyway. I often wonder whether by employing staff who ooze cool you are hoping that your clientele will follow suit. Bummer. We turned up. I'm about as close to being a hipster as I am at running a marathon and Paul simply cannot grow an acceptable level of facial hair for all that (as we learnt the hard way one Movember).

So we went, with lovely friends, none of whom could be classed as hipsters. We went upstairs to the tiny gig room and saw the Jar Family who were brilliant and weirdly completely free. I convinced myself I couldn't have been that drunk as I was clearly dancing in rhythm. Well I thought I was anyway. I was drunk. Quite drunk. But then I did just turn 39 and I was celebrating.