It seems like only yesterday (actually, a month ago) when I made this comment about bars and pubs:
The business of a pub is to serve booze to grownups. End of.
You can imagine my irritation, therefore, when I saw this little bit of nonsense:
Two fuming mums have criticised a historic pub for not catering properly for their kids — and claim their youngsters were told to “turn the iPads down” while they were dining.
The angry mothers took to Tripadvisor to deliver two bruising one-star reviews of Victorian pub Sam’s Chop House after having Sunday lunch there.
They say that no children’s menus were offered, not enough high chairs were available and that they were left appalled when asked by staff to turn down the iPads their brood were watching in the restaurant.
The mums said they were told they were not allowed to take their prams into the restaurant, “which was fine”.
Big of them. Then:
“I’d rather have gone to Toby Carvery for half the price and a much more decent roast dinner than atrocious meal they call Sunday roast.”
I bet the staff, and all the other patrons, wished they had. All of which begs the question: why didn’t they go to Toby’s instead of a basement pub?
Okay, I have no plans to visit Manchester in the future (Mr. Free Market: “Never venture north of the M4, dear heart” ) but if I ever do, I’ll be heading to Sam’s Chop House, you betcha. It sounds like my kinda place. I don’t consult any of the so-called “ratings” websites like TripAdvisor much anyway, but if I were to do so and found a one-star rating like the above, I’d be more likely to go there because it means that Management has the right idea about how to run a drinking establishment.
Kids have no place in a pub. It’s not as though there aren’t enough fucking eating establishments everywhere that cater to the rugrats, that parents have to take their precious brood into a booze palace and disturb the serious drinkers.
Fach.
Obnoxious Karens.
Put your hand on the back of the head and slam the face into the table, HARD.
the same topic comes up regarding breweries.
Since you’re not going to teach your little darling social manners then you’re not welcome at the establishment either. Get out.
When I were a wee lad of 10, back in 1970. My family vacation that year took us to the UK. In London we found out that I was too young to go into a pub, so I had to wait outside while the rest of the family ordered some food, and wait for Dad to bring me something outside. I did get to watch a fine apron wearing gentleman give a Rolls-Royce a nice waxing, though. Beautiful car. Thirty years later I made up for it by enjoying the pubs in Edinburgh during the week leading up to Hogmanay.