I'll eat shit as long as I can sit at the best table.

There seems to be a growing movement of diners who approach the acquisition of their chosen table with the military precision and forward planning akin to a crack SAS unit.Nothing will thwart them from their ultimate goal:capture of the prize seat, this will often involve a forward reconnaissance trip to the pub beforehand and several phone calls afterwards..
We first experienced this phenomenon a number of years ago when the the local council decided to fund a pensioners Christmas lunch for around thirty which was very quickly oversubscribed.The group were due to arrive at midday as the pub opened but at around 11.30 I happened to glance out of the window and noticed a bus pulling into the car park.There's nothing as annoying as customers who arrive before you're ready to open up.If the front door's locked they will circuit the building until they find another means of access,even on occasion entering via the kitchen door fighting their way through the fly screen.
I'm quite adept at putting on the most deadest pan of faces when responding to the usual:
'We couldn't get the door open'
with
'Thats because we're not open yet..'
Sigh.
Anyway we were rushing around trying to get things ship shape early so we could get the door open,conscious that we didn't want to let a party of frail pensioners shiver on the doorstep and risk hypothermia before they'd even had their gratis Christmas turkey.
At this point Chef appeared.
'Jesus Christ come and have a look at this' he was standing mouth agape staring out of the window toward the garden path.
There was a veritable stampede of elderly folk charging drown the garden path ,walking sticks aloft,a flash of Queen mother handbags and cauliflower perms.There was even a wheelchair that would have given Dame Tanni a run for her money..
'MY GOD.I'M SCARED..WE DONT HAVE TO OPEN THE DOOR YET DO WE??'
A disorderly queue formed at the door before the walking sticks were deployed into operation with a determined but impatient tapping on the door.
'We better open up before they put the window through' I shouted 'pass the keys…QUICK'
As I turned the key in the lock it suddenly occurred to me that there were around thirty clamouring pensioners rammed right up to the front door and DEAR GOD didn't the flaming door open outwards…
They could potentially go over like a pack of dominoes if a didn't get them to move back.
'STAND BACK' I shouted as loudly as I could 'I'M OPENING UP..'
I could hear shuffling outside and tentatively pushed open the door nervously, just in case.
As the door opened and I stepped outside to secure it on its daytime hook on the pub wall,I was almost trampled underfoot as a herd of nuns shoes and M&S slacks surged past me into the pub.
Ive never seen a set of seniors,some of them moderately infirm looking move with such speed and urgency..
Once inside there was  a further scramble as they each fought to secure the prime seats,the more able bodied fighting their way ahead and bagging seats for mates.
"Over  here Betty Ive kept you a seat!!' Several walking sticks were waved aloft to attract attention.
I  even saw a few minor scuffles break out.
With all the excitement the food seemed almost secondary.To be honest a fair few of them didn't eat much though we spotted quite a bit of turkey being wrapped up in napkins and tucked away in the lunchboxy Queen Mother handbags.
I was surprised given the agility of the field in the chair dash to be called over to a couple of participants and asked if I could CUT UP THEIR FOOD.



Anyway..
The other week I happened to take a call for a booking for seven people..
I was just about to put the phone down having extracted all the relevant information when the caller interrupted .
'One last thing..we'd like to be seated in the bar area'
"Im sorry I'm afraid our biggest table in the bar area only seats six people'
'Are you sure? We'd really like to sit in the bar area'
Expectant pause..
'Yes I'm sure..the table only seats six,I can sit you in one of the adjacent rooms'
I finally managed to get him off the phone but I could tell he wasn't happy.Something told me this wasn't the last id heard of this particular person.
Later that afternoon,after I'd just returned from my afternoon stroll with the pooch I caught the back end of a telephone conversation that made my ears prick up….
'Yes ok, I'll mark that down we, could do that for you'

I could sense trouble.They don't call me Christine Cagney for nothing (subtweet haha!!)
'What was that about?'
'Oh It was the seven booked tomorrow night,the guy said he was told he could sit in the bar area and he was just checking that it had been noted in the diary.'
Now.
Nothing gets my fucking goat more than punters playing the staff off against each other and GOD FORBID managing to gain the upper hand.

'WHAT?? But you know we don't have a table that accommodates seven people in the bar'
'I know but he said someone told him we'd put a chair on the end of a table..'
WTF.
THE BLOODY LIAR.
I seethed right through dinner service with the thought of the fucker dictating what goes on IN MY FLAMING PUB.

When the following evening arrived I WAS READY FOR HIM.
The chair was placed strategically on the end of the table in the main thoroughfare from the bar,it wasn't going to be pleasant for whoever drew the short straw and had to sit there with drinkers milling around behind,breathing beer fumes all over their braised beef.
And*cough* the odd member of staff inadvertently bumping onto it…
When they were all seated it transpired there were a couple of children on the table.For the next few minutes a plethora of children's games,cards and tablets were offloaded into the centre of the dining table.It was like a scene from Fenwicks toy fair on the last shopping Saturday before Christmas.
Finally they got around to looking at the menu..
I could hear mutterings.
'Is there a children's menu?"
Godamnit.
I delivered the stock answer.
'No but we are happy to offer smaller portions of the regular menu'
Beam.
There was more chuntering…then loudly in order to make himself heard over the top of the three currently playing versions of Old MacDonald Had a Farm
'I can't believe they don't even have a single sausage in the kitchen'
That did it.
I steamed over.
'Im sorry we don't have sausages on the menu today,so therefore there are none available in the fridge'
I had a little smirk to myself.
'Actually we quite often do have sausages,in fact they were on the menu only yesterday..'
How ironic.
Beam.
I left them for a further minute to mull over the menu.
By now time was getting on and it being a Friday night Chef was getting tetchy for the order conscious of the backlog which was already piling up.
'Are you ready to order?'
'Actually no,we're just going to leave it as theres nothing for the children.I mean my kids will eat ANYTHING but theres just nothing there at all that they can eat'
I glanced up at the menu,noting the lamb chops,the steak,the pasta dish,the cod,the very tasty soup,various salads,belly pork,not to mention the range of simple sandwiches(what the hell kid doesn't like BACON??)and wondered what the fuckl this lot DID eat.
Reader,brace yourself for the next comment.
'Do we have to pay for the drinks?'
Lets just think this one through.
So.
In addition to now having seven spare places on a Friday night and having already turned punters away,its now MY fault that you didn't like the menu and you'd like me to compensate you for the inconvenience by offering GRATIS drinks?
I toyed with the idea of telling them that if they'd put as much effort into finding out what was on the actual menu as they did researching the seating plan it would've saved everyone concerned a lot of wasted time and effort.
Instead I kept quiet and presented them with a drinks bill which was not received with warmth.
I consoled myself with the thought that the only place they'd get in at short notice on a Friday night was probably the one of the local Indian restaurants and pondered the likelihood of the kids eating curry when basic English fare was off limits…

Later on Postman Pat came in for dinner.

Popular fictional character

Not the actual Postman Pat if you get my drift but someone who bears an uncanny resemblance to the popular children's TV character.
Its worth noting at this point that if you are unfortunate enough to resemble some well known fictional character you might want to think twice about frequenting the same hostelry on a regular basis.Better to spread your custom around and thus avoid being tagged with an unwelcome moniker  similarly,persons who eat the same meal every time they visit may wish to ring the changes now and again to avoid becoming known by the name of their favoured dish.
EG:
'Postman Pat'
'Sausage man'
or even the unfortunate
'BLT on brown'
All existing customers of ours.
On the bright side if I ever lose my iPhone I comfort myself with the thought that the finder will make no sense whatsoever of the messages contained therein.
For example:
(From an off duty member of staff  doing a spot of shopping in Waitrose and happening to bump into a regular'
'BLT on brown heading your way Biff,ETA 10 mins'

SO.
Postman Pat always has plenty to say for himself.Probably because he has a chip on his shoulder because no one takes him seriously because he looks like Postman Pat..
Anyway.
He was troughing his way merrily through his meal so I thought I'd go over and put in an appearance just to nip any potential complaint in the bud.
Having inquired as to the enjoyment of the meal and having received an answer(well a nod to be exact-perfect timing his mouth was full)indicating the affirmative, I left fairly pleased and moderately surprised that the extra workload with the Christmas post hadn't dampened his mood.
I didn't give him much thought for the rest of the night.
Later as I was exchanging a few pleasantries with the kitchen staff, the Blonde burst through the kitchen door.
'Biff.I want to twat him'
'Who?'
'Postman Pat.He's just been on a massive rant about the wine list and how he can go to X and Y and drink lovely wine for £12 a bottle and he doesn't want to come here and drink South African Shiraz at 6 quid a glass when other places round here have far superior wine lists.And can I 'feed' this information to you Biff and can I tell you that you need to raise your game quick smart otherwise he won't be coming back soon'

'Ive told you before about holding customers at gunpoint and forcing red wine down their necks' said Chef helpfully.

Now recently we've employed an Italian kitchen porter who's family have been in the restaurant trade for many years and reader, the conversations I'm having with him regarding common guest relation problems are proving insightful to say the least..in fact Im picking up quite a few tips on how best to deal with difficult customers.
I was particularly impressed with his description of his fathers likely response to this particular situation.Imagine the following in raised tone and and with accompanying frenzied hand gesticulation:
'You wanna go to  X or Y then?? Well getta  the fucka outta here,in fact I call you a cab.RIGHT NOW'
Giggle.
At this point the conversation became a little silly partly because our new KP either wasn't aware of Postman Pats stunning resemblance to his fictional namesake or had no idea who Postman Pat was,therefore the following wisecrack from Chef delivered with the usual ascerbic wit, was lost in a cavernous void of misapprehension.

'He won't need a taxi,he's got his red van parked outside'

'He has a red van?Jesus Christ fancy driving after all that red wine.. The BASTARD'..

I should have been Italian..


'

Postcard from Ireland

In a break with tradition we've had a holiday.The public don't expect publicans to have holidays. I can only imagine the verbal abuse the staff will have fielded due to no food being available in Chef's absence.
You'd be surprised at how many people will embark on two hour round trip for a bowl of chips and a cheddar sarnie and how angry they are when they can't get them..

I've been encouraged however,to discover that wherever you go the poor hospitality worker appears to encounter the same ineptitude and buffoon like behaviour..
It was a Monday lunchtime in October when we ignored our own best advice and tipped up without an appointment at this atmospheric little place.

At 12.30 there were already three tables taken but Chef's eyes alighted on a prime viewing spot by the window and was already steaming over there to seize possession when the lone waiter intervened.
'I'm sorry Sir but that table is booked'

Prime spot overlooking the bay

Of course it fucking is,what the hell planet are we on ?
Idiot.
The very pleasant young man directed us to a less attractively located table,you know,one of the ones you don't dare book out because they're next to the netty door or the coffee machine (which always comes in quite handy as you can unexpectedly bang the coffee knock out draw with the force of a young Arnold Swarzenegger in the case of any awkward customer being seated next to it..its great watching them flinch like they've been shot by a sniper..)
Anyhoo.
Due to my extensive experience of belligerent customers and equally feeling embarrassed by Chefs faux pas (he should know better) I overcompensated and made a huge show of not being an awkward customer.
'Thats perfect,yes thats a lovely table we'd love to sit there'
I gave Chef a swift warning kick on the shin and he obligingly flashed his best rictus grin.
The poor lad looked a bit shifty and averted his eyes in embarrassment.
Which was no surprise really, as it had been over a week since I'd made eye contact with another human being due to the Mother of all Cold Sores which had taken up residence on my lower lip.
By now it was at the shrivelling stage and looked like I'd blu tacked a plump California raisin to my lip. To make matters worse I'd daubed Sudocrem(*cough*as we all know this clears up ANYTHING..) on the atrocity, giving the effect of a MOULDY California raisin.
It was indeed an eye catching display.
On the plus side I was feeling slightly more at ease as nobody knew me.

A predominately seafood restaurant might seem an ill advised choice given Chef's fish allergy but I'd already checked on line that there'd be something he could eat and was set on a nice plate of oysters and a glass of champagne for me lunch.
The restaurant was cosy,with eight tables in a compact space.
We'd already noted an upstairs seating area with windows overlooking the bay but clearly at lunchtime in October and with only one person working the tables it made sense to keep everyone downstairs.
Yes oddly one does need to make a profit.
Presently, I noticed a particularly flashy car pull up outside.
A couple entered the room.I could tell straight away they were Americans due to their huge blow dries and statement horsey teeth.American teeth are fifty per cent bigger than English teeth and one hundred per cent whiter.
Seconds later the wives followed in behind.
There seem to be a lot of Americans visiting Ireland at this time of year.Probably third or fourth generation emigrants visiting the homeland.The American demeanour  bears no resemblance to that of your average Irish person. With the exception of two places visited we witnessed a complaint from a cuz stateside every night.
Every single night.
And as with all things American, the American complaint is also exponentially bigger.

Apologies if this offends any polite and easy mannered American but this lot had a sense of entitlement and superiority that causes an interaction which should be an enquiry to come out as a statement of fact:
'You have an upstairs seating area?We'll sit upstairs,so we can enjoy the views'
Will you indeed..
My ears pricked up immediately,I wondered how the very pleasant young man might deal with this.
'Yes Sir we do but I'm afraid its not open at lunchtime,I can offer you this table here'
I glanced at the table right next the the front door and knew straight away they wouldn't be happy with being sidelined, they were definitely centre stage material.
They didn't go for it.
There followed an heated interaction some of which I couldn't quite catch,but I could see they were digging their heels in.
Finally in a loud voice I heard the threat 'Well buddy, we'll come back when the upstairs seating are IS open'
They stood there expectantly thinking they'd played the trump card.Customers quite often overestimate how desperate you are for their cash.
'Ok Sir sorry about that'
BRAVO.
The waiter tried to push a business card their way as they stormed out of the door.
'He should have sent the fuckers up there and and forgotten about them' said Chef,'I don't fancy their chances finding somewhere round here as nice as this on a Monday lunchtime'
'Well they always have the mini bar in the hotel room to fall back on..'
'They didn't look the sort to be sated by a packet of Pringles and a seed bar' said Chef smirking..

Just then our meals arrived.
'Oh look' said Chef 'the sauce for your salad is in an oyster shell'
I was just thinking what a nice idea this was when as fate would have it,the waiter went to put down the salad and the dressing was sadly no longer in the oyster shell but all over the table.


"I'm sorry Madam I'll get that changed for you'
'No its fine,don't worry'
I grabbed at the plate.
He tried to take the plate again, but again I grabbed it and made him put it down,determined not to be a difficult customer.
Reader,I was practically licking the salad dressing from the table top.
'I don't know why you didn't just let him change it?' said Chef with an eye roll…
Minutes later the waiter returned with some blue centre feed roll to mop up the mess.
It would probablyhave been easier all round if I'd allowed him to change it,but still, I win, I'd proved I wasn't a difficult customer.
After I'd downed half a dozen oysters, a delicious crab salad and had polished off two lovely glasses of house champagne I was still a bit thirsty so went to have a quick swig of Chef's finest lager.
I was stopped mid track.
'Are you intent on killing me?' said Chef
'Eh?'
Just then I remembered the infectious abomination on me lower lip.
'Oh yes, of course I shouldn't be drinking out of the same glass in case you catch it'
'Jesus,the cold sore is the last of me worries,you've downed enough bloody seafood to bump me off….'

After lunch and a pleasant stroll along the seashore we headed back to our lodgings as Chef had promised himself an afternoon snooze prior to the evening festivities.
When his alarm sounded a short hour after his head hit the very cosy 300 thread count Egyptian cotton pillowcase,I enquired had he enjoyed his repose.
'Well no, not really..'
Why?
Well,what was all that noise??'
'Oh.Sorry. I was having a look in the drawers and I pulled that one right out and the coffee stuff fell on the floor and I couldn't get the drawer back in and then I tripped over your walking boots and fell flat on the floor..'
Just your average afternoon then.
'No not that racket.Did you have the shits?'
What?? (indignantly)
'Sounded like gurgling and then the toilet roll spinning round.I thought you had the shits'
'Oh THAT noise..' (splutter) 'I found a coffee percolator in the wardrobe and I thought I'd brew up..'



And that was only the first day of the holiday...

Moody shot of an Irish litter bin.I can do arty.

'Comfort,hospitality and friendliness are our mottos at the Shit Inn'

I used to love Sundays.
Just lately though, Sunday seems to be bringing out the worst in people.We had a particularly nasty complaint the week before last which exploded spectacularly on Twatadvisr and this week was no better.Whatever happened to the good old days when people used to come out for their dinner and if they didn't like it just didn't bother going back???
Everything used to be so much more simple..
When I were a lass everything was closed on Sunday.
All you had to look forward to was the morning visit to mass followed by a lovely home cooked roast prepared by your Mam or Granny,the only bit of drama coming if they forgot to stick the pan of cabbage on the boil at 9.30am ready for lunch at 1pm,resulting in the meal being delayed by at least an hour and cutting into the weekly broadcast of Savile's Travels…
All good wholesome fun eh?…
The smell of the cabbage would permeate every room in the house and linger threateningly for at least three days the fug only finally clearing by the following Saturday ready for the weekly re infiltration on Sunday.

Things are so much more complicated now.
The world and his wife go out for Sunday lunch,if you aren't fully booked on a Sunday then you've got to be doing something drastically wrong.
Everyone it seems strives to recreate the idyll of the family meal but without the effort of cooking it themselves,so they trail around the Metrocentre with kids and infirm Grannies in tow until wound up to breaking point then debunk to the local pub where they they allow the kids to run off their frustrations,then get annoyed and try to keep them quiet by stuffing them full of bread before the meal arrives.
And hell hath no fury like a mother whose offspring can't eat the meal she's forked out good cash for..
Sounds wonderful doesn't it?As a backdrop to all this just imagine how soul destroying it is to hear repeatedly in an audible aside 'thats not how I'd do it at home'
Sigh.
One of the biggest headaches on a Sunday is managing the tables to maximise numbers within the allotted time period,all the while not letting the customer know you've rebooked their table in an hour and a half so they'd better encourage Granny to get a move on,hiatus hernia or not.
To be honest,an hour and half is usually long enough for for all concerned before tempers become irrevocably frayed and the bill is frantically signalled.
There's always one to spoil your plan though isn't there?
The 12 o'clock tables are usually the least popular so what you'll find is that these will only be taken in desperation and are invariably the last booked out.
One of today's 12 o'clocks was a party of ten.They'd only booked the night before and we'd only accepted the booking on condition they vacate the table by 2pm so were keen to get the order promptly.
On arrival they expressed a desire to have a drink in front of the bar first which caused a bit of surreptitious eye rolling amongst ourselves,the last thing the kitchen would be wanting was a delay on one of the first tables causing a backlog before prime time 1pm.
I pointed out the menu, nodded encouragingly and was blanked completely.
25 minutes later the place was beginning to fill up and they were still milling around the in bar.
Sunday Girl attempted to get the order.
No joy.
With the time pressing ever forward I steamed over.
'Are you ready to order?'
I was surprised by the force and visciousness of the response.
'We were told specifically when we booked that we have the table until 2pm,so we're going to enjoy our drinks for a while longer ,then we'll order our food when we're ready,at least another 10-15 minutes'
This would have taken the time to 45 minutes after the time they'd been booked in for.
Direct action was needed.
'Yes, you do have the table until 2pm but you were booked in for 12 o'clock and its now getting on towards one o'clock and if I don't take your order now you may have a long wait for food and not very much time to eat it'
*beam*
'Five more minutes'..
*seethe*
During the next few minutes hordes of people began to pile in and things became pretty hectic,so much so that we momentarily  forgot about the problem table and went about getting orders from the tables which had politely turned up on time and were happy to order within their allotted time slots.By the time I remembered them I could see the leader looking agitated that they'd been left in the lurch and was making her way over to the bar to place her order in person with the barman.
On my next visit to the kitchen there was a bit of a commotion going on with the order which had just been checked on.
They'd asked for extra Yorkshires.All ten of them wanted THREE each.Thirty Yorkshires for a table of ten people, some of which were children.
'You're having a laugh aren't you,what do they think it is a fucking Toby Carvery??' said Chef without even looking up as he dished out yet more veg in identical position on the neat rows of plates and well on the way to his usual Sunday afternoon repetitive strain injury.
I sighed.
'Don't bother giving them any they probably won't eat them anyway,its not as if you're exactly tight on the portion size..'
We only cater for 100 on a Sunday so only cook 100 Yorkies.It's quite enough to fit in within the 3 hour lunch period,so once you factor in a few veggies theres always a couple of spare Yorkshire's knocking around in case the odd person asks for extras,but certainly not a surplus of 30..
Chef runs a tight ship.
Surprisingly,when I took the food out there was no mention of the missing optional extras.I hovered around just in case I needed to deflect any complaints but none came.

Just then I noticed a middle aged couple who had just been seated at table 6.The woman was up and wandering around touching various chairs.I noticed Sunday Girl going over and helping to swap a chair from an adjacent table.
'What's the craic there? I asked as we passed on the stairs en route to the kitchen.
'Something about a high backed chair..I just swapped them over for her.'
'Uh? ok'
This is a new thing.
In addition to people now having very specific and detailed requirements in terms of the tables they sit at,diners now seem to be equally interested in the chairs which they park their backsides on.Only the previous night I'd taken a call for a booking where the person had asked what sort of chairs we had.I was taken aback at first then replied:
'We are a pub,some are benches, some are chairs,all are wooden with assorted backs,some wheel back,some straight,non are armchairs..'
There was silence.
'Would you like to go ahead with the booking??"
'Well,um yes... ok we'll try it'
WTF?
I digress.
A few minutes later I saw the same woman up and wandering around again making the place look untidy.I went over to see what the problem was.
'Its this chair,it won't fit under the table..' She was pointing at the chair which she'd just selected in preference to the original chair and trying to force it under the table.
'No' I replied 'it doesn't fit under the tables for two,it has a wider base'
'Oh,well I need a high backed chair with a narrower base which will fit under this table'
She was already off again browsing other tables.pulling chairs out searching for a non existent hybrid chair which met her very specific requirements.
Enough is enough.
I thought I'd better spell things out.
Simply.
'Look I'm sorry, we only have two types of chair,the narrow seated ones with lower backs (which fit under your table) or the high backed wide seated ones which don't fit'
I allowed a brief pause to allow time for the information to be absorbed and digested.
'Which chair would you prefer?'
I was unprepared for the answer.
'Can we sit at that table over there with the high backed chairs?'

'No I'm sorry you can't because its a table for four people and you are only two people..'

I briefly pondered suggesting she came back at a later date with a couple of friends.

Unbelievably the original chair was returned to the table and she finally sat down.
Sometimes there is method in our madness y'know..

I asked Sunday Girl to hold the fort briefly whilst I went to the cellar to quickly slit me wrists..

Just then I was beckoned over by the Blonde.
There was a problem with the ladies loo.
As there's always safety in numbers,we both inhaled a deep breath before cautiously pushing open the door and going in to investigate.
It was indeed well and truly BLOCKED.
'Not again' I groaned.
There is a very useful piece of advice which you need to keep in mind should you ever decide to do anything so barmy as taking over a pub.Its a bit of information which I wish to God someone had told me.
WHATEVER YOU DO DON'T BUY A PUB WITH ONLY ONE LADIES TOILET.
What you need is a spare trap which thus allows you to do that motorway services thing and stick an OUT OF ORDER sign on the door in the event of emergencies.
We decided to try a few mop buckets of bleachy water launched from a height into the pan to see if it would shift the blockage.
Six buckets later and I was working up a bit of a sweat and becoming a bit despondent watching the bleachy bubbles subside slowly revealing the blockage still wedged firmly in place.
'What shall we do??"
'Lets just try one last bucket' I said hopefully.
God loves a trier.
The gentleman seated at the table just next to the loo and looking mildly amused by the whole sorry debacle watched me struggle back with yet another loaded mop bucket,smirked and quipped to his partner..
'I think someone must have given birth in there judging by the amount of water and disinfectant going in'
Everybody loves a bit of Schadenfreude..
The last bucket was launched with vigour but alas to no avail.

'It's not a shit, its a flaming periscope..'
'What now?"
'We'll have to break it up'
'I suppose by 'we' you mean 'me'?' said the Blonde.
'Well..you're better at this sort of thing....'
'No I'm not'
I could see it was going to take more than a cheap bottle of Pinot Grigio to sort this job out.

Anyway,I didn't get where I am today by poking around in other peoples shit.
Well,not literally anyway.

'I'll get a stick' said the Blonde,heading off to the garden..I suppose this is what's meant by living in the sticks..
Haha.
'Make sure it's a willow,strong but flexible and unlikely to break during the work' I said helpfully.
Snigger.
'Don't push your luck Biff' warned the Blonde.
We had to place a chair in front of the door to prevent people from entering,there was a constant stream of women desperate to relieve themselves,one even had to go outside and use the mens netty.

By this time things were getting a bit confused out front,the last thing you want during a busy service is to be two strong members of staff down,otherwise engaged..
I left the Blonde with the task of hacksawing the blockage in half,sending in Sunday girl for moral support.
Not even the Sunday the lunch din managed to mask the squeals of horror escaping from the loo at periodic intervals.

The difficult woman who wanted to draw up her own timetable and fuck up the whole lunchtime for everyone else declined to have her pudding order taken,looking me straight in the eye,unsmiling.
'We will wait 15 -20 mins before having our pudding order taken,and then a further 10 minutes before being served'
Grrrr.
The trouble with this sort of customer is they're always brolly wielding harridans with enough facial hair to stuff a mattress or live undiscovered in an Amish community and not the sort you dare give any backchat in case you cop a swift backhander..

Bitch,you'll order pudding when I come over and get your order..
I smiled a sincere smile.

Eventually the toilet crew emerged,job done blockage(which was reportedly a similar length and width to six tennis balls) cleared.
Shudder.
By this time I'd been missing in action and absent from the kitchen for around 40 minutes which is a long time for me during any service,never mind Sunday lunch.
'Where've you been?' Said Chef
'Someone shit a brick' I said picking up the last of the roasts from under the lights.
'Not again' said Chef without looking up from his furious meat slicing'I don't know why we don't just cut out the middle man and fling this lot straight down the pan'
Sigh.

After service as we were sipping on a little glass of something which in some way helped to soothe the earlier unpleasantness,Sunday Girl piped up.
'Biff, I might need some time off this week'
'What for?'
'Well, its the trauma of that turd,there are some things which are just too painful for the eyes to see…'

None of us could manage any lunch…

Later that night I came across an old menu which once again had me reminiscing about Sundays in the good old days.

12-1.15pm what a great idea!!!

'Look at the Sunday service time-12-1.15pm' I said to Chef  'how great would that be??'
'1.15's a funny time' said Chef with half interest
'Well it was Sunday licensing wasn't it?Everyone had to clear out by 2pm...I wonder how many lunches we could knock out in that time period?'
'Well today it would have been none wouldn't it?' said Chef wearing his 'I told you so' face.
'What d'you mean?'
'Well,thats about the length of time you spent in the bloody bog today '...

There's always someone to rain on your parade isn't there..

#HASHTAG AWKWARD

I learnt a new phrase on Saturday night.
The Dentist had cleared meals from a table in the conservatory and reported back that a complaint was being made about the meal.
Sigh.
'Do I need to go over??"
'Yes I think so'
Sods law dictates that when anyone's making a complaint they will be sited on the only table that is in close proximity to another table.These two were walk ins who were seated at a table that we'd quickly separated into two twos.
I took one look and realised there would be no discreet cover up,might as well sing out loud so the table next to them could hear the whole bloody lot.
I'd already had a quick deeks at the offending rib that had just been cleared and duly noted that only 3 slices of beef from a 1 kilo joint remained uneaten.
I enquired as to the problem.
As is usual the woman made the complaint quite forcefully whilst hubby sat quietly.
'That rib was awful,very poor quality,I couldn't eat it'

Knowing full well that they'd eaten most of the rib I thought I'd use a bit of reverse psychology ..
I  explained that it was very unusual to get a complaint about the beef as we are very careful about sourcing and using a correctly aged product.However,every animal if different and I accepted that on this occasion the cut fell short of expectations,apologised and as they'd BEEN UNABLE TO EAT IT I offered to make a reduction on the bill.
The husband looked a bit shifty,they paid and left.
Sorted.
Presently, the couple of very lovely gentlemen(you know what I'm saying?)cheerily ploughing through the cocktail list,having the type of evening I'd aim for on a Saturday night out and seated at the table adjacent to the problem table gestured me over.
'Well... that was HASHTAG AWKWARD..'
He did that funny inverted comma finger sign as he said it and I couldn't help laughing.
I've never heard this term spoken in general conversation,is this usual down sarf??
'Very well handled dear,but just wanted to let you know those two were arguing before and  throughout the meal.He wanted to order a rib and she didn't.We could hear EVERYTHING they were saying.It was really HASHTAG AWKWARD..and actually I think the beef here(wink) is very good indeed'
*Splutter*

The weekend continued in a similar vein with more HASHTAG AWKWARD situations including me chasing a shrew around the bar at regular intervals to various amused and some horrified feedback.
'Look there's a mouse!'
Me :'No its ok! its a shrew!'
Timothy is getting quite brazen now, even crawling nonchalantly over someone's shoe as they were paying the bill on Saturday night.
I'll be surprised if we manage to keep this one off Tw*tadvisor as none of us can catch the little fucker.
This place gets more like Fawlty Towers every day..

Extra protein

Regular readers of this blog may have noticed that I haven't mentioned OCD Boy for some time.
Well that's because he did one..
Finding competent staff who are prepared to commit to the job for a decent length of time is at best a challenge and at worst BLOODY TRYING.For some reason hospitality(especially front of house)in this country is still predominately viewed as a stop gap job,not a career choice,therefore in the main applicants tend to be students,people on gap years or people generally filling in whilst applying for other jobs.Which is a real shame as the opportunities for quick progression are probably greater than in most other industries.
Anyway, OCD Boy left under a bit of a cloud due to informing us after his Friday night shift that he wouldn't be  finishing the rest of the very busy weekend due to securing a job in his chosen career.I posed the question ‘Did you not tell them that you already had a job and would need to give notice?' The response ‘Well I told them I had a bar job’  pretty much sums up the view which many have that hospitality jobs are not proper jobs and exist for the convenience of the worker,not the employer.Never mind that this ‘bar job’ had provided continuous employment for two years,along with associated benefits including free staff meals(two steaks at one sitting in this particular case) and of course requisite holiday pay.
*Breathe*
You might just want to bookmark the following statement and deploy in any future situation where you wish to remain on good terms with an ex employer:
‘My loyalties lie with my future employer,not with my soon to be ex employers,albeit NICE people’
Grrrrrrrr.
The Judi Dench line from the film Philomena came to mind: ‘remember how you treat people on the way up-you may well meet them on the way down..’ 
Anyway I digress.
In  light of the above I decided I'd try a more mature applicant,now we're not talking pensionable age here,lets just say that this person falls within the fourth(or third depending on which scale you look at) group range of a demographic profile age band.
*Cough* probably around my own age..

Come Sunday morning The Dentist,Sunday Girl and myself have gotten into the habit of starting early then sitting around from 11-1.30 drinking coffee and gossiping.Oblivious but Blissfully Happy comes in later,and usually only has to give the dining room a quick hoover then she's done.
Anyway this particular morning she steamed in as usual all guns blazing just as I was about to demolish a second chocolate muffin.
'MORNING how are you all?'
We exchanged a few pleasantries before OBBH leant in towards me.
'Eeh Biff me piles are giving me jip this morning,I'm going to have a nice hot bath when I finish and cream them up.'
Lets be honest,the last thing you want on Sunday morning when you're feeling slightly fragile having consumed a couple of small vinos quite late the night before is an up to date status report and full shipping forecast on someone's Farmers..
In a knee jerk reaction I quickly covered my half eaten muffin with a paper napkin to avoid any possible contamination.
There was more:
'I didn't have them before I had the kids,did you get them after yours Biff???'
The dentists face was immediately transformed into a particularly spectacular Hollywood gurn, whilst Sunday girl sat quietly saying nothing ..
There is no right answer to this question.
Do I:

a.deny the existence of any offending pile(which  no one is likely to believe given the aforementioned precursor 'having children' being a contributory factor)

or

b.admit to having piles( pffft are you joking?)

In the event I ignored the question and gave out an involuntary nervous giggle which in effect had the same outcome as the above two.

I looked guilty as hell.

(HASHTAG AWKWARD)

How we managed to hold things together until the hoover switch was flicked on I have no idea,the early morning lurkers in the garden must have wondered what the hell was going on.The Dentist was crying,I was bent double with a terrible stitch due to the amount of coffee and chocolate I'd just consumed.
Sunday Girl was still quiet.
'What's a pile?'
Which of course was the cause of much further hilarity..
'Just Google Haemorrhoids dear..'

For the rest of lunch I couldn't get the thought of the Farmers out of me flaming head.
Halfway through service OBBH appeared in the kitchen
'Biff would you mind having a quick look at the Fosters please? It just doesn't look right to me,it looks a bit DARK'
It didn't help that I had to follow her out of the kitchen, (wiggling butt and the horrors which lay beneath directly in front of me) and through to the bar where I observed a Fosters glass sited strategically underneath the Guinness font,half full with….GUINNESS.
'What do you think? It doesn't look right does it?"
I stared in disbelief at the glass and the regular customer waiting patiently for his Sunday morning tipple obviously also equally dumbfounded by the strange turn of events.
'No... it doesn't look right because its Guinness..'

Bit dark for Fosters??

The regular glanced nervously at the pint and shuffled uncomfortably.
'Its ok I'll just have Guinness instead..'
And as any fule kno GUINNESS and Fosters are equally interchangeable….
I repeated the tale to Chef when I returned to the kitchen accompanied by loud guffaws and associated crying from others who had been witness to the debacle.
'Thats not even funny' said Chef 'that can't be good for business'
But I could see the corners of his mouth twitching involuntarily…
So you see every demographic brings its own challenges..and as I said later 'I'm keeping her she's good for morale..'


*I do not have piles (please believe me…)

I was the victim of a Hit and Run.

It's been a bit George and Andy* this week and we've all  been sweating like controversial people in situations which prompt that controversial behaviour.

The heat seems to have been sending everyone even pottier than usual,we've been attracting far too many diners with very specific ideas about where they want to sit.Which is pretty annoying when as a restaurant the last thing you want is for a two to be sitting for example at table for six,or even a lone ranger choosing to sit at a six so they can 'spread out' their paperwork and spend an hour logging onto your gratis wifi and answering e mails whilst sipping a 1.60 pot of tea and having a refill of water to make it stretch even further,as happened the other day…
Similarly people feel the need to push tables around Chuckle Brothers style to what they deem better positions with absolutely no regard for any other activity that might potentially be going on...This week we've had a table pushed in front of the coffee machine and IN FRONT of the till,unbelievably people get pretty shirty when I try to point out to them why the location just ain't going to work…

I can't see the problem with this..

The other night a couple commented that the food was lovely but they didn't like the table they were sitting at as 'people were walking past'..People were walking past...what else are they going to do?? float by a couple of inches from the ground??its a bloody pub which is open to the public if you don't want to see other people then STAY AT HOME in your flaming armchair with the doors and windows CLOSED..
*Breathe*
On Tuesday night though we experienced another FIRST in the anathema of bizarre behaviour that is the  public.
The Blonde arrived in the kitchen clearly agitated.
'Biff you'd better go and sort out the bloke on Table 9 before I SLAP him.'
Slapping the punters is an activity to be avoided at all costs,unless we go ahead with the Fawlty Towers evening as we've been threatening to do for some time now..
'WHAT NOW?'
'He's asked the people at table 10 to move as he is having a PRIVATE conversation..he is soo bloody rude..I sat the couple down and next thing they were back up and out...'

WT *FLAMING* F?

I headed out to investigate just as Oblivious but Blissfully Happy was smiling ecstatically,oblivious to the increasingly impatient queue waiting to be served.whilst apologising to the displaced couple who were now crammed in next to the drinkers at the bar,
There is a fundamental concept which the public need to grasp before they head out for private conversations at a PUBLIC House,by its very definition a  house which is OPEN to the PUBLIC and is therefore not a suitable contender for a PRIVATE meeting place.
I steamed over to sort him out.
I beamed my best beam,the one that confuses the hell out of people when its deployed alongside some unwelcome instruction.
'Just to let you know,these tables (gesturing grandly) will be in use shortly,so if you would like a private conversation might I suggest the garden?'
I beamed again.
I was unprepared for the response.
His manner was almost surly,barely looking up and avoiding eye contact.
'The couple didn't mind moving...I asked them politely..'
grrrrrrr...
'Well polite or not,we are fully booked tonight so these tables will be used very soon..'
'We do have a table booked for dinner,we're just having a discussion first'
His tone was dismissal,like I was an irritating cold caller from an energy supply company,NOT THE BLOODY PROPRIETOR.. I managed to force another convincing beam despite being SEETHING.
The Blonde was loitering within hearing distance:
'Twat'
Surprisingly, this isn't the first time we've experienced a situation such as this,not so long ago a couple on settling their bill and on feedback being sought as to their enjoyment of the experience commented that 'the food was lovely but the meal was spoilt by the couple at the next table who TALKED TO EACH OTHER throughout the meal..'
My God, just imagine coming out to dinner in a public place and having a conversation with one's dining companion,what IS the world coming to?

In other news,the couple who like their plates to mirror the shape of the table they sit at have been back and they've been unnervingly friendly for the last two weeks,yesterday even calling me over to congratulate me effusively on the chips.
They were sitting in the garden and I'm ashamed to say they're one of the few couples I try to avoid eye contact with as any interaction usually involves a protracted complaint so I was surprised to hear my name being called quite cheerily.I almost looked over my shoulder wondering if by some strange coincidence they were talking to someone else.
'Biff these chips are wonderful, exceptional even,you've got things JUST right here CAN YOU TELL THE CHEF please?'
This is a bit disconcerting,three weeks prior they'd been overheard telling other customers the chips were frozen.Its a worry when known customers start acting irrationally and out of character,we were sure there was trouble afoot.

'I wonder what they're up to' I said,eyeing them suspiciously.
'Im not sure' said the Blonde 'they even said thank you when I took the food over..they never EVER say thank you..'

On my next kitchen visit I filled Chef in on the strange turn of events.
'I know exactly what's happened' said Chef 'they've had a change of heart since the door was stuck two weeks ago and I had to go and force it open, they were standing there when it burst open and he's obviously seen that I'm much bigger than him..'

'I hope you didn't scare them with your Jack Nicholson Here's Johnny face…' I said.

In the light of this we're seriously considering employing a Bouncer or I might beef up a bit more, might be worth it if customer problems are as easily solved as this..
Trouble was restored with one of the strangest requirements we've ever had,odder than the woman that turned up with a typewritten 'but not exhaustive' list of about 24 different allergies without advance warning.
I digress,this woman required 'a white diet,what can you do for me?'
I was momentarily confused thinking I'd misheard.
Might be the first punter with a taste for shite food but not afraid to ask for it..
'Excuse me?'
'White food..I only eat white food..'
WTF.
It's not often I'm lost for words,my mouth fell open,whilst I tried to get my vocal chords in tune with my racing thoughts.
The woman could see I was floundering and decided to spell things out.
'Im only eating white food…I'm WHITENING my teeth..'She had that annoying but increasingly heard upward inflection at the end of her speech,probably from watching too much American TV and was shaking her head and rolling her eyes as if it was normal behaviour  to go out with the intention of eating only food of ONE bloody colour and furthermore with the colour in question not even being GREEN which would have been a whole lot easier ball game to accommodate…
'How about a nice bowl of bleach soup?"said Chef helpfully..'or perhaps that most versatile of store cupboard ingredients CORNFLOUR..'

Continuing synchronistically on with the colour theme,all eyes were diverted by the arrival of an exceptionally tanned and tattooed diner wearing a lime green neon,very short skater dress with very ample cleavage on full view.
The Dentist in Training went over to extract(see what I did there?)the order.
On one of the hottest days of the year she wanted mashed potato with her meal.
'Who the hell wants mash on a day like this??' said the Dentist.
'Well you don't get that size on a diet of lettuce leaves..' I muttered.
'She looks like Big Bird'
Snigger.
I pondered the lack of mashed potato and wondered briefly if it would have qualified as a white food..



The week rounded off with a brief trip over to my sisters.I was just finishing a coffee when our mother appeared at the garden gate laden with freshly baked pies(chicken and ham,mince and onion),none of which we could eat due to both being coeliac.Having been relieved of the redundant bakery goods she disappeared again to park the car.
Several minutes later and having not reappeared and sis being slightly concerned, I headed out to check if she was ok.She was just pulling up in front of next doors drive,effectively blocking any entry or exit.
'You can't park there,give me the keys and I'll park over the road for you'I said.

Once inside Mam produced her lap top,on which she was having a spot of bother picking up emails,
I agreed to have a look at it for her.
As I opened it I noticed a bit of squashed cake on the side of the screen,top left hand side corner.
'Look there's a bit of grub on your lap top' I commented.
'NO that'll be you with your biscuit!' came back the response.
Now whilst it is usual compulsory form for me to have some form of cake based accompaniment during any hot beverage activity,on this occasion I'd only had a couple of bits of chocolate.
NO ..I haven't even had a biscuit..' (indignantly)
'Well..I'm meticulous about my things,that wouldn't be me..'
Her brow was furrowed as she flicked off the crumby remains having a quick sniff to see if she could identify the sample,the obvious implication being she didn't believe I hadn't daubed food waste on her precious lap top.

Later that evening,I received the following text from my sister.

When you were out parkin car wiv mam the woman next door knocked 2 say a woman in a black car had reversed into ur pickup.She said it was a big crunch :0

Reader,me eyes had barely finished reading the text before I was legging it up to the car park to check out me car for damage.Sure enough the damage was PLAIN TO SEE…

I had been the victim of a hit and run.
I fired off a reply text

why didn't you tell me at the time?

Because you were out there and I thought you must have witnessed it..

It wasn't long before the criminal net was closing in and the finger of guilt identifying the prime suspect.

The only woman in the vicinity driving a  black car or any other car for that matter was Mam..
'I thought she looked a bit shifty' I commented to Chef 'obviously left the scene of the crime and panic parked over the front of next doors drive..'
I got straight back on the text

IT WAS MAM

OMG WTF??

Dunched me car and kept schtum..

wonder if she knew it was your car?

Of course she did,I bet its a weekly occurrence …she will be dunching cars left right and centre…

hahahahahahahaha ..

Remember Grandad's Volswagen Beetle..with the papier mache wings*?

OMG you're right.hahahahahahaha!!

The Cheeky blighter..

*Grandad bumped his car on a regular basis and was always bodging the wings up with cardboard and spray paint,resulting in a wobbly school balloon head look.

Kind of puts the heinous crime of the food debris on the lap top into perspective doesn't it??

Shafted by me own Mother...


*WHAM! (warm..only works with a Geordie accent..)

Make up and consumerist culture are not feminist issues.

It's been suggested to me on more than one occasion that I might be some sort of weirdo magnet attracting all manner of wrongness and confrontational behaviour..
Latecomer diners especially at the end of a lunchtime service are the bane of Chefs life.Especially those ones who invariably then go on to order a leisurely three course meal(always with a bit of well done protein) which might mean the pudding order isn't extracted until around 4.30pm.Anyone arriving at the end of service is usually sized up first then offered a sandwich or starter option in an effort to evade this outcome.
Over the years,Ive become pretty adept at predicting which sorts will stick to the sarnie menu anyway.
Last Tuesday we had a party arrive just after 2pm.Giving them a cursory glance(couple of seniors and slightly younger woman-most likely one course wonders) and having had a generally jolly old lunchtime with nothing notable to report other than the request for tartar sauce with the braised beef, I was feeling uncharacteristically generous and thought I'd offer them the full menu provided they order quickly, thus allowing Chef to crank up the afternoon chip production line without any undue delay.
As luck would have it, the order included a well done fillet,along with some lamb chops and a beef starter.
I'm going to cut to the chase here,the WELL DONE fillet steak was sent back due to being too WELL DONE..and INTERESTINGLY changed for a rump this time cooked MEDIUM.
There may have been some discussion in the interim overheard at the table regarding pricing and one wondered whether the price of the fillet may have been more the problem than the cooking time.However the request was fulfilled,after the meals were cleared I was informed that the three were kicking off big style.
I headed over to deal with the complaint.
Seemingly, despite plates being cleared and just a smidgeon of pink meat remnants having been pleasingly observed just close to the well chewed lamb bones,both the lamb and the steak were BURNT TO A CINDER.Moreover,displaying an astonishingly high level of knowledge of animal husbandry,the lamb chops were 'at least 4 years old'.

Elderly lambs

The only four year old lamb I've ever seen was stuffed and in a museum.
There is a good and a bad way to make a complaint and this lot were as flexible as an(my) eighteen year old's debit card on the last day(or if we're brutally honest the first day) of a 5 day *cultural*trip to Shagaluff.
To say they were going over the same old ground repeatedly would be an gross understatement,if you've ever been on the brunt of people like this you will know that no matter how many times you apologise there is no winning.They were even complaining about the price of the fillet which in fact they weren't even paying for as they'd changed the order to the cheaper rump option.
Finally,after a fifteen minute one way conversation during which I basically just apologised repeatedly that they hadn't enjoyed the meal,I agreed to knock the lamb chops off the bill.Which meant that despite a fillet, a rump,lamb chops and a beef salad starter being cooked,they only actually paid for one starter and one main course, and I was left regretting I hadn't  limited the feckers to starters and sarnies only.
You would think that would be the end of it.
BUT NO.
In addition to dealing with a complaint in person,there is now an additional sinister weapon which the disgruntled wield with increasing regularity;the assassination via the well known on line review site.
Blow up it did in spectacular form.
The thing that affronted me most was the blatant fabrication that I'd told them 'they were lucky to get a meal'..
Reader,the day that I tell someone they were 'lucky to get a meal' (despite the inner voices telling me otherwise) is the day I pack up my bibbed apron and hygiene spray and stroll off into the sunset with it tied on the end of a Dick Whittington stick.
"You see' said Chef, 'I told you there is no point in comping meals:
1.they aren't coming back anyway, so we might as well have the money... and
2.They've still complained to buggery on a public forum.'
Sigh.
Later that week I had occasion to indulge in a public transport experience,which is a rarity given the only bus coming through this neck of the woods is the pension express on a Wednesday at 2.30 and returning an hour later.
Anyhoo,I happened to be aboard the local Northern Rail special en route to the Toon and found myself sat opposite a couple of earth people.
Its a bit awkward in those seats isn't it,why they don't all face forward so we can all ignore each other in peace is anyones guess.
I took my phone out of my bag and feigned/had a quick spy on twitter to pass time.
The girl tutted loudly and launched into a sweeping damnation of social media with Facebook being her main bone of contention.
Good.
I was on Twitter.
I put my phone away uncomfortably and got out my iPad,thought id do a bit of reading,that couldn't possibly cause offence,yes I could try and finish off the last bit of The Goldfinch which I'd hit a brick wall with three quarters of the way through,I must be the only person alive who doesn't adore this book.
There then followed a very loud aberration of 'consumerist culture' with lots of exaggerated eye rolling and head shaking.
I fronted it out for a bit then resignedly put the bit of consumerist kit back in me cotton picking hand bag and gazed disinterestedly through the window,nostalgic views of washing lines and flapping clothes drying in the late afternoon sun.
Presently,as we pulled into the station at the very large shopping complex the annoying voice directed my way piped up again,the intonation sarcastic this time.
'OH lets all go to PRIMARK and spend all day shopping for clothes and bourgeoise accessories'
As I sat there quietly minding me own business, in me comfortable shoes, resisting the urge to blurt out that I hadn't shopped in Primark since I heard about the SOS messages sewed into the back of the labels,I had a worrying thought that I might indeed be a nut magnet.
And finally this:
'women who wear makeup undo all the hard work put in over the years by feminists..and it DOESNT EVEN LOOK NICE'
Well.
For all they knew my make up could have been PETA approved.
Whilst I would never call myself a raging feminist, even I know feminism is not about make up,technology,what colour knickers I choose to wear(or not wear) or even whether or not I sport a full chin beard and moustache .

I glanced furtively over at the pair of them chewing (loudly) and self satisfiedly on their eco friendly carob bars,blissfully unaware that feminism was actually about CHOICES.

Choices.
Life is about choice.

Next week I might choose NOT to take public transport,avoid alcohol(!)…and not allow latecomers free rein on the menu...

I am neither YOUNG nor a VERY NICE waitress.

As we speak, the gas supply has just been reconnected following a leak and 24 hour interruption in supply as a result of a catalogue of comedic errors which deserves a whole blog post in itself.
Lost revenue aside, at least I've had the chance to catch up with various neglected tasks and update this for the first time in AGES.

Im a bit worried that I might be losing the plot.
Not that I'm hallucinating or anything,but I seem to be hearing voices in my head.
Admittedly its my own voice, but its saying something completely different to what is actually coming out of my mouth and I'm starting to become slightly concerned that these thoughts might actually be voiced at some point and if so certain people are going to be very upset indeed.
Its very disorientating. its putting me in mind of Gerry Adams in the 80's when Thatcher wouldn't allow his voice to be broadcast so an actor voiced it,I could never understand why his voice didn't match his mouth but always found it strangely pleasing.
I've included my alternative speech in bold for the rest of this,just so you see what I mean.
Where to start.
The serial complainers have all been back sucking the flaming life out of me.
First being the old dear who had an aversion to large fish.
In line with many of our older customers she seems to be fixated on fish as a preferred dining option.
She's been in around half a dozen times now but still insists on asking for the menu every time and complains bitterly when we tell her its on a blackboard.
This lunchtime she was set on battered fish and chips.
'Excuse me,once when I came here I had battered cod and chips'
I interjected, no point getting her hopes up.
'Ah yes I'm sorry we don't have any on the menu today so..'
She raised her hand slowly right up to my face.
'LET ME FINISH'
I stood there quietly as commanded,finish or not there still ain't gong to be any battered fish.
'As I was saying,I enjoyed your fish and chips and would really like some again'
'Well I'm sorry but as I was trying to explain we change our menu daily and unfortunately we don't have cod today-we have a whole lemon sole(grilled not battered)which I'm sure the chef can serve with chips for you if you like'
I beamed a fake but fairly convincing beam.
'Are the chips those awful thick cut ones?'
'Well they aren't skinny fries but I think they're pretty good'
'Ok but can I have some mushy peas with that,preferably marrowfat?'
'Im sorry no, we don't have battered fish or mushy peas on the menu today'
'Im beginning to wonder if I'm in the wrong place here..'

[Never a truer word spoken so why don't you save us all some time and just f off home now?]

'Would you like some greens or a salad instead?'

As the meals were served and just as I was placing the whole lemon sole with chips and tartar sauce down in front of my favourite customer I was greeted with the following comment.

'I asked for mushy peas'

Eh?

Given the time that I was at the table extricating the order and the lengthy conversation we'd already had about green veg I was moderately surprised by the fact that she'd already forgotten we have a pea drought,I thought I'd better clarify.

'Yes you asked and I explained that we didn't have any'

'Can you get me some vinegar instead?'

Oddly I'd never thought of vinegar as particularly interchangeable with peas.

As the main in courses were cleared and I'd fronted out a frosty silence following the 'Did you enjoy everything?' request I enquired would anyone like to see a pudding menu.

The other three at the table who were looking increasingly fed up with their dining companion all shook their heads and were polite in their refusal.

A couple of minutes later I noticed the complainer gesture another member of staff over to the table.I eavesdropped her saying that she hadn't been asked if she would like a pudding and witnessed the profuse apology and and the deliverance of the pudding menu.

She ordered a 'small' cheese board to 'share' between the three of them BUT WITH EXTRA BISCUITS.

This caused a bit of confusion in the kitchen.

There is a growing trend with diners ordering one meal then bulking it our with carbs thus feeding multiple diners for the single price and its becoming tiresome to say the least.

Yesterday, unbelievably someone ordered a childs Sunday lunch but with extra roasties,an extra Yorkie and an extra bloody plate.AND THERE WERE NO FLAMING CHILDREN ON THE TABLE.

*breathe*

I intervened.

'Just do the normal size-if you make it smaller there won't be enough for the three of them.'

As I placed the cheeses down Mrs Doubtfire enquired was the cheeseboard a smaller one.

'No its just the normal size as we were told you wanted to share between the three of you'

She raised her hand for the second time to silence me.

'When I ordered the cheese with the very nice YOUNG waitress which WASN'T YOU…she agreed that I could have a smaller cheeseboard,so can you take that one away and bring me a smaller cheeseboard as requested'

The other two at the table were visibly recoiling and fidgeting uncomfortably in their seats.

I looked at her for a split second and made a mental note not to morph into a similar specimen in old(er) age,then without speaking removed the cheeseboard.

'I thought they were sharing?" said Chef in bewilderment.

I watched as the cheeses were re sized carefully to meet diner requirements.

Reader,If I say the cheese would not have been cut finer had it been sliced with a razor blade, you will appreciate my supreme satisfaction and joy in the redeliverance with a exagerrated flourish to the table. 

I employed my best Fawlty voice:

'Does that suit madam?'

[Joke's on you Missus..]

I'd been waiting for the farm cat duck woman to reappear, ready to dispatch her poste haste  as previously planned but surprisingly she hadn't been back.
Until last Thursday when I was out.
I AM NEVER OUT.
I'm beginning to wonder if  she's had the bloody placed staked out waiting for me to be out so she could sneak in undisturbed behind my back and make unfettered complaints at will without me being there to deflect them.
After perusing the menu for several minutes and after much huffing and puffing she'd gone ahead and ordered the pasta with asparagus,peas,rocket and Parmesan,but WITHOUT the peas and asparagus.
When the dish was cleared and feedback being politely requested as is the usual form,the word came back that there WASNT MUCH TO THE PASTA.
There wasn't much to the pasta.
Lets just think tis one through shall we? Deleting half of the prescribed ingredients surely invalidates any possible future complaint?
This particular woman is beginning to really boil my piss...
Anyhoo two days later she was back again.
I approached the table for the order.
Would you believe it she went ahead and ordered the same pasta AGAIN.
I repeated the order back.

'So the pasta on the board but without the peas and asparagus?'
[Listen missus WE all know you don't like it so how the hell do you not?]

'yes please'
On receipt of the order and following the well rehearsed performance of the usual 'You're having a laff/Do I look like I'm laffing?' routine,Chef suggested I went back to the table and offered her some braised beef which had just been cooked ready for the evening menu.You can always rely on a slow cooked bit of meat to win fussy diners over.It meets all their criteria the main one of course being that it requires no effort in the chewing department.It could taste like shit but as long as its tender it'll pass muster.
I was a tad surprised by the the woman's rebuttal.
Looking up slowly and maintaining eye contact just a smidgeon too long, she replied slowly and with the merest suggestion of a smirk.
'No I'll stick with the pasta,I had it the other day and enjoyed it'
What the hell?
She's playing with me isn't she.

I re entered the kitchen just as Gareth Malone was being interviewed on the Jeremy Vine show.
'Have you ever been in a choir Biff?'
Now,having been an avid and conscientious church botherer in me youth I was able to respond with conviction and even a slight air of smugness,in the affirmative:
'Well actually yes, as a matter of fact I have..'
'Hmmm'
[over exaggerated, tension building pause]
'And tell me..did you ever pump the vicar's organ…?'

See what I have to put up with on a daily basis??

The Vicars organ (what do you take me for..)

Thank God Sunday morning finally arrived.
I even managed to sit meself down with the papers and a coffee prior to opening after delegating the remaining few jobs.
'Can you restock the coffee machine please?'
'There's plenty of cups there already'
Ooh..sharp intake of breath..
'No there isn't. More of everything please or we'll run out'
'I suppose I could stack a few more on there'

'Yes completely full please'
['Yes bitch,do it now ']

Its worrying isn't it?

A Comedy Caller and duck that was only fit for the farm cats..

Well.
Would you believe it the complainer mentioned in the previous post did indeed do us the 'favour' of coming back again.The Cynical One and myself clocked her immediately as she walked through the door,docile hubby in tow,disconcertingly wearing some kind of floral bandana type headgear.
Our hearts sank,people like this can physically drain the life force out of your body in two seconds flat.
The odd peculiarity about these two,which we hadn't immediately noted,was the fact that they always order duplicate meals,so true to form they studied the board then predictably ordered two identical meals.In this case slow roast duck leg.
The Cynical One glanced at me and sighed,checked the ticket on,at the same time forewarning the kitchen they were in.
In due course the meals were sent and we kind of forgot about the two of them as the lunch service kicked off and our attention was diverted elsewhere.We had a couple of tables booked but people tend not to book at lunchtimes so you can never predict how many will rock up on any given day.There was a four booked in midway through service and were directed to the table we'd chosen for them.It doesnt matter which table you decide to reserve, it wont be the right one.People have lots of requirements in terms of which table they want to sit at.This four eyed the table disdainfully but with most of the other tables now taken their options were kinda limited.They reluctantly sat down,shuffling irritably in the seats.The Cynical One shot me a surreptitious eye roll and headed over the extract the drinks order.Presently the 'leader' called me over.
'Excuse me do you have any seats suitable for bad backs?'
Now,not being in possession of the aforementioned bad back nor being an effing chiropractor, I had no idea what kind of seat would be suitable for a bad back ..I decided to put the ball back in her court.
'What type of seat would you like? We have lots of different chairs as you can see'
The woman looked annoyed then scanned the immediate area for a bad back chair eventually
swapping her chair with one at an adjacent table then continuing to fidget.
As the drinks were delivered the chair problem was again raised.
'I'm sorry we're really not comfortable here,can we move to another table please?'
As it happened a table had just become available in the dining room and OH JOY with six different  mismatched chairs to choose from,I invited the party to follow me.
The leader was having none of it.
'Stay where you are and I'll go and check out the table out first'
I smiled encouragingly,placing my hand on a high backed chair with a wicker seat.
'I'm sure this one will be good for a bad back,its nice and firm and will give a lot of support'
I patted the seat like some over eager salesman at DFS on the last day of the 14 day permanent sale.
The woman stared at me as if I was an absolute nutter then turned away.
'Its ok we'll stay where we are'
Sigh.
'If seating arrangements are such a bloody deal breaker,why don't they just effing sit at home in their orthopaedic armchairs' said Chef helpfully..
Just then I remembered the serial complainer sat with her duck by the window.I glanced over.Her arms were folded,and in an odd but increasingly popular trend, with the husband sat beside her.
As I approached the interview panel,I could see that both plates were empty(hurrah) but on closer inspection all was not jolly.One plate was COMPLETELY empty and I mean COMPLETELY-no sign of the bone.
WTF.
I went to grab the plates.
'Was everything ok for you?'
The woman was visibly shaking.
'No..no.. it was terrible,in fact it was only fit for the farm cats so I've wrapped it up and put it in my bag to take home for them' and then almost as an afterthought and pointing at the husbands clear plate 'and he didn't enjoy his either'

I like duck

I observed the husbands very empty plate, duck bone as clean as a whistle displayed prominently.
'Really?'
The husband sat and said nothing,less life in him than a dead granny.
'Well I'm sorry you didn't enjoy it-would you like something else instead?'
'No No No'
She was shaking her head in disgust.
Thank God for that.
I retreated from the table and planned my next move.
As I cleared the table adjacent to the table with the bad back and they requested the bill, the very pleasant woman leaned in towards me and nodding toward the problem table in a stage whisper uttered 'That lot are going to ask to move to this table'
Which was a problem as the table was booked out for another party in five minutes.
Sure enough I was waved over
'Excuse me would you mind if we moved over to that table-we really aren't comfortable here'
I smiled.
'I'm sorry that's just not possible as a table for 5 five are booked here shortly and unfortunately I cant give them your current table as its only for four'.
Ha.
They were already on the up in a presumptive table move but stopped dead in their tracks on receipt of this information.
I noticed the duck woman heading over to the bar.I'd already told the Cynical One not to accept any payment for the meals.
I sidled over to watch.
The woman was insisting on paying.
'No thats fine' said the Cynical One 'but just to let you know,if you had let us know earlier we could have offered an alternative meal'
The woman stood there looking embarrassed,the balance of power neatly shifted in our favour.
That's going to take the wind out of your complaint with the bulk of a meal that you haven't paid for tucked up neatly in your handbag.In fact I'd call that THEFT.
 I haz the upper hand.
I smiled a smug smile as they shuffled out of the door sheepishly,her with the stolen duck breast in her handbag and him with a very full tum,just as a couple of Irish fellas at the bar were having a very loud and much more entertaining conversation about a mutual friend who had 'pinched their MOTHER'S arse'
Snigger.
I've already briefed all staff with our policy for dealing with them on their next visit:
'Are you absolutely sure you'd like to order food? You've already tried fur,feather and fish and it appears our food really is NOT TO YOUR TASTE..'
And rest assured the fuckers WILL BE BACK..
Further portions of the farm cat duck continued to 'fly' (groan) out for the rest of the week,despite this with no sign of any outward feline activity or miaowing from the customers.
Next day we had further seating problems.
The Actor motioned me over to the bar.
'See those two booked on table 2? Well the woman is the size of two houses and she just isn't going to fit on that table so Ive had to move her to table 3 but it's booked out for three in 45 mins'
'God yes  I can see what you mean,at least a metric tonne, should be another table free by the time the next lot in come in.Good call'
All of the above delivered through well practised fake smiles.We'd all make great ventriloquists... I nervously eyed up the chair she was about to sit at, a pastime I'm increasingly finding myself occupied with.
Later that night just as snifters were in sight the phone rang.I'm constantly surprised at how late people ring and make bookings sometimes even after 11 at night.'Oh I'll just ring the pub before I finish my cocoa and book a table'..
I picked up.The male caller had a deep guttural voice,I couldn't quite place the accent but could have been Mackem.
'Can I speak to my Dad please,his name's Peter'
What's his surname I enquired.
The caller sounded muffled,I couldn't make out what he was saying so passed the phone over to the Blonde.
'Here, can you hear what he's saying' I passed the phone over disinterestedly.
I could hear the Blonde trying to establish the fathers surname as she headed over to the remaining five tables in search of the Dad.
I thought I heard her repeat the word 'file'.
Surely not.
I watched in amazement she approached each table in turn asking each if anyone at the table was called
'Peter'
At the last table unfortunately there was indeed a chap named Peter.I was rooted to the spot as I heard her then politely enquire was his surname "File"
The chap looked momentarily stunned then smirked nervously shaking his head.
I kid you not.
The Blonde headed back over to the bar.
'Please tell me you didn't ask that fellow if his name was Peter File..'
Now normally The Blonde is very quick on the uptake but it'd been a very long day..
'NOOOOO..Why didn't you stop me??'
She grabbed the phone and dialled 1471.
We have the comedy callers' number and are already planning a late night call for next Saturday.The options are endless:
Hugh Jars
Brothers Warwick and Mike Hunt
And of course our old friend Pat McCrotch.

'I bet that was the Actor' said Chef who was nearly crying into his well earned Fosters 'ringing up with one his Actory voices'
Next morning we were still giggling about the comedy call.The Actor (I swear to God it wasn't me) denied all knowledge but did arrive laden with Sunday chocolates for the girls..
Hmmmmm.
Watch this space.

Sometimes people are bloody unpleasant.

The other weekend I had to deal with a particularly unpleasant complaint.
From time to time Sunday lunchtime seems to bring out the most venomous of complaints,all usually linked to people's own idea of what their meal should consist of.
We'd had a similar complaint last year from a party who'd made a forty five mile round trip to visit us for Sunday lunch without actually bothering to find out what was on offer first.Being of a vegetarian mindset was a bit of a problem given that the pub is in a rural farming area and with the Sunday lunch menu consisting of a predominately meat based menu of a traditional and non imaginative nature.All of which is clearly specified on the web site.The whole sorry business ended up on Tripadvisor in spectacular form.
Being on kitchen duties on the Sunday in question,it was late afternoon as I emerged  just in time to see a youngish woman approach OCD boy.I could tell by the cut of her jib that all was not well.OCD boy isn't the best at dealing with complaints given his tendency to repeat back what the complainant has said with the result that a protracted conversation can continue for some time without any actual progression being made.Which often has the effect of magnifying and compounding the original problem .
I steamed over 'Is there a problem here?'
"Well yes,we've eaten here before but never on a Sunday and I'm afraid we were underwhelmed with the menu'
'Really?' I say 'we do serve a traditional Sunday lunch'
'Yes but that's nothing like what you serve during the week'
'No' I repeated 'we serve a limited menu on a Sunday-roasts and of course the usual starters and puds'
'Well I've brought all these people because we love your food and we didn't expect to only have a roast dinner for choice.'
'Well I'm sorry that's the case but it is specified on the web site,I'm sorry if its not what you expected but it is what we serve on Sundays'
'well that's really disappointing..don't you think that compromises your food offering??'
I glanced around the packed pub,over 100 plus diners pass through the doors every Sunday with many more being turned away every week.
'NO look round,can you see how busy we are?people love our roasts on a Sunday,we use very good local meat '(I'd like to know of anywhere else serving beef rib for 9.50).
At this point the woman seemed to accept what I was saying, I reiterated that it was a shame she hadn't checked out the on line menu first and to smooth things over I agreed to knock one of the meals off the bill as a gesture of goodwill.She took the bill and returned to the table.

*Have you been watching Russell Norman on The Restaurant man? Please refer to his excellent advice 'whilst nobody goes into the restaurant trade to make money,it is a problem of you don't make money'
(ie :why would we not offer what the majority of people want on a Sunday.)

At this point I returned to my original purpose-giving instructions for the rest of the afternoon.
Immediately, a chap in his early thirties from the problem table shouted over 'scuse me-we're waiting to pay the bill' He looked furious .
I headed over with the PDQ machine in my hand,he was already waving his credit card.
As I went to put the payment through the machine I was subjected the the most sustained and angry attack I've had the pleasure of fielding in the whole time we've been at the pub.The rest of the table looked slightly embarrassed but no one intervened as he vented his anger.He was going on and on about the meal being terrible.I stood my ground remained calm and told him 'look, as I've explained to your friend, I accept that the meal wasn't what you expected but it was not a terrible meal,its a traditional Sunday lunch using good quality local meats with everything freshly cooked today'
Its not often I'm lost for words but his comment that 'the vegetables were flung in some water and boiled' floored me momentarily.
He was like a flaming Rottweiller,after he'd slagged every aspect of the meal off for a good ten minutes whilst I stood there quietly with the PDQ machine in my hand,he finally rounded off with 'and the service WAS DISGUSTING'
'Oh really,what was the problem with service?'
I could hear the rest of the party muttering that there was no problem with the service,they were looking increasingly uncomfortable but not one of them tried to shut him up
'Yes there was, I'm waiting to pay the bill and you're standing over there CHATTING amongst yourselves'
At this point something snapped.
I calmly put the credit card on the table and pushed it slowly towards him.
'I don't want your money'
I turned and walked back over to the till and continued 'chatting'
The bill was £180.
The woman who made the original complaint came over to me and apologised for his behaviour and asked to pay.
I refused but in the end she ended up paying a portion of the bill.
As they got up to leave I made a point of going over and thanking them for coming, the knobster kept his head down,hopefully he'll have had some grief over it after he left.
Its not often I beal (well not more than once a week, but not usually in a work related situation)but much later as I began to relive the verbal attack  I began to blab like a baby and could barely get the words out.
"Calm down' said Chef 'Why didn't you come and get me?'
'What difference would that have made?'
"I could have come out and twatted the bastard'
Which of course would have helped the situation ENORMOUSLY.
*SOB*
I'm still awaiting the whole sorry business to erupt on Tripadvisor and I'm pretty annoyed with myself for accepting any payment whatsoever as now there's the awful prospect that they MIGHT COME BACK.
And yes complainers do come back,that's when they become that most loathsome of customers: The Serial Complainer.

Fuckwittery of a more lighthearted nature was restored through last weekend.I thought I'd come across every conceivable complaint,but the general public never disappoint.
With the trend for arriving prior to opening time growing in popularity,last Saturday morning the slow conga around the beer garden had started around half an hour prior to opening and by ten to twelve a snake of around a dozen people were on their second circuit of the perimeter in the search for an alternative means of access,unnervingly brought up at the rear with what appeared to be a teenager clutching a teddy bear.
As I pushed open the door I managed to avoid flattening the throng queued up on the other side (why do they never expect the door to open outwards?) and being trampled underfoot in the stampede to the bar to be served first.There's a particular couple who win this race every week without fail,their seemingly frail outward appearance belying their apparent athletic prowess.They also manage to bag the table nearest to the fire before anyone else gets a look in.They seem to like order in their lives,you will know the sort of dullard who has their own glass (in this case a MUG) and if his favourite beer isn't available, there's hell on.In the same vein they only eat smoked salmon so even if its not on the menu we have make sure we've got some in.Its an easy order:Two smoked salmon,bowl of chips, a pint of Timothy Taylor's Landlord,and a weak lime and soda(no ice).
Sometimes we don't even bother to write it down.
On this particular Saturday,in a break with tradition, for some reason the kitchen decided to plate the smoked salmon on rectangular shaped plates.As I went to put the plates down the chap raised his hand and shook his head slowly.
'I am sitting at a ROUND table,therefore I require a ROUND plate...'
For a moment I thought he was joking but then I noticed the wife was smirking as if it was obvious that a round table required a round plate.I stood there gobmacked for a minute before realising that they were indeed deadly serious.I glanced around wondering if there was a suitable rectangular table nearby that I could move them to.Sadly not.Unbelievably I took the plates back to the kitchen to get them replated on round plates.This news was not received with warmth in the confines of the already hotting up kitchen space.
'You're having a laugh' said Chef.
'Do I look like I'm laughing??"
I was just heading back through the door with the newly ROUND plated salmon when Chef called me back.'Hang on a sec you've forgotten this'
He was standing in front of the hot plate, arm outstretched with a medium frying pan in his hand.
'What's that for?'
'Its a round pan for you to whack them over their round heads with....'

Good Plan

NB I'm considering applying  the same rationale to the customers; '`I'm sorry I can t serve you as your outfit doesn't match our soft furnishings..'

Presently, the couple who always order a bottle of house red and then leave it to 'breathe' on a hot radiator came in.They both ordered fish and chips and the requisite bottle of house red,which as usual was left to warm up on the radiator.Which reminds me of the couple a few weeks ago who asked us to microwave their bottle of red for 20 seconds to warm it up...and I'm not even joking.
Much later,when they came to pay the bill and as the usual enquiry 'have you enjoyed everything' was made,I was surprised by the response.
The wife leaned in towards me(at close range turned out to be a surprisingly whiskery specimen-must book an eye test) and whispered as if fearful anyone would hear.
"Well my husband enjoyed his but I didn't enjoy mine at all'
'Oh really ? what was the problem?"
'Well I really don't like fish and chips'
Which of course begs the question why the feck did you order them.
"You see I had to order them because there was nothing else on your menu that I like'
Erm,but you don't like fish and chips either..
'Out of interest what do you like?'
'I don't really like meat or fish,I like salads and vegetables '
'Well we do have some salads on the starter menu..'
'No. I wanted something hot today,so I had to order the fish and chips'
Well.Not quite Missus. Ordering food isn't compulsory...
'Yes last time we came we ordered the rib of beef and my husband ate it all as I don't like beef,and today he's eaten his own fish and mine too as I really don't like it'

Just before she left she grabbed my arm..'but don't worry dear..it wont stop us from coming back..'
Well.. knock yourself out Missus...

BEAM ME UP SCOTTIE, THERE'S NO INTELLIGENT LIFE DOWN HERE....