Why Do I Bother…eating out?

After a weekend of colds and teething, I thought it would be nice to cheer us all up and grab some dinner out today.


A pub garden is what I had in mind, so Lil Man could play and run about whilst we sipped a shandy in the sun and ordered a cheeky burger.

Everywhere was packed. We walked out of the first place as we couldn’t get a menu, let alone a bloody shandy.

Never mind, we will just go up the road to another pub….and we did. We managed to get a table with enough shade for Baby and sun for mummy. Brilliant.


Food came up nice and speedy, although I could see why. (Wish I had remembered to take a picture). The sad burger drooped out of the hacked up bun and was avalanching onto the plate chopping board. Sat adjacent were the brownest chips I had ever laid eyes on and were luke warm at best.

Hubbies meal wasn’t much better; his “curry” consisted of chilled rice with a side portion of sauce and a mouthful of chicken. Mmmm.

Whilst we tucked into our delicacies, Baby did her usual party piece of the well-timed whinge. Simultaneously, Lil Man’s cold had got the better of him and he didn’t want eat a single baked bean. He simply laid in the buggy whimpering. Poor sausage.


So I tended to him whilst Hubbie had Baby on his lap, shoveling grub in his gob and trying to catch the poppadoms flying in the summer breeze.

But being British, when the waitress asked ‘is everything ok with your food?’ naturally we responded with ‘fine’ and then scampered off, muttering a vow never to return again.


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