“THE KING HEROD ARMS” The Pub of my dreams!

Children in pubs a complete ‘feckin’ nonsense!

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I awoke this morning,  Sunday 23rd of February 2014 and sniffed the air.

It was pleasantly warm with a moderate to strong breeze from the South East and that being the case here in Cape Town, it was sunny!

Planning a pleasant morning trip, we decided not to mount the Motorbike (Hair~Untidy~etc!) and so an amicable compromise was reached.

We would drop the hood on the MX5 and take the short trip to Hout Bay which is not far over the mountain and lays on the Atlantic side of the Cape Peninsular 

After a short and pleasant drive over the Oak leafed Constantia Neck, we arrived at our very wind swept and sand stinging destination.

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The beach was briskly walked together and we had very little reason not to visit the adjacent ‘pub ~ restaurant’, aptly named “The Dunes”, as a sand removal remedy for the tonsils.

As the ‘favoured’ sea view balcony was doing an excellent  impression of the bridge of the ill fated Hesperus, we took the decision to sit inside this pleasant beachside hostelry.

As do most struggling pubs in these days of the Nanny States, ‘The Dunes’ caters for families with children.

As in Britain, here in S.Africa the obligatory slides, swings and other paraphernalia for the ‘little darlings’ adorn spaces that once were the  domain of sun bleached benches and tables which, in days of yore, accommodated like minded persons with a penchant for a pint or three of Ale which, if you were lucky, left its comforting tell-tale trail of quality clinging bravely to the inside of your sleever’ or ‘dimpled’ pint mug.  All of this completed with no fear of some irate parent admonishing you for ‘ripe’ language.

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Our drink of choice this day was Cider, but this is of no matter in this piece. 

Our conversation developed easily, but within a few moments our concentration was rudely disturbed by the screaming of a small excited and ‘out of control’ child.

Far from being embarrassed by the over exuberance of their progeny, the parents of ‘Damien’ smiled with obvious pride in what they had ‘produced’.

Shortly after…we left!

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But why should we have had to ??

 As a small lad, when my parents visited the pub, it was understood that under 18s were never allowed.

We ‘the under-aged’ were left in the car-park and,if  lucky, would be brought a bottle of ‘pop’ and a bag of  Smiths Crisps

 

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How things have changed! 

Now one has to lean across a child wearing a Man U shirt seated at the bar in order to shout your order to a dis-interest bar-person! 

I mean, come on!

Nanny governments are eager to limit the advertising of cigarettes and their display in the corner shops and super markets so as not to ‘influence’ little Damien and his mates and yet they are comfortable for these same innocents(sic) to sit on a bar stool and be mesmerised  by the back-lit bottles of booze on display.

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Please explain this nonsense if you know the answer. 

I have nothing against children as such (3 of my own plus 4 Grand children) however now that I am in the ‘Autumn’ of my life, I have to wonder ‘when is it my turn?’ 

Thanks, but I have done my time in the car-park with my pop and crisps and now I expect the opportunity in my being able to have ‘time’ in a place free from kids.

Too much to ask?

No!  Children today are more than well catered for in all aspects of modern life. They only encroach upon Adult life because of their parent’s unwillingness to give up their own freedoms and restrictions which arrive after having children.

Just Google Child friendly/Unfriendly pubs and read the comments! It seems as though people with kids feel that they have a right to eat in a pub. And complain that they have no high-chairs!

Get a life or maybe a baby sitter!

Time to open “The Herod Arms” with Oliver Reeds’s head swinging above the door!

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NB: Luvvies who are upset over the content of this article: Cover your little diddums ears now…”Tough Shit!”

To everyone else,

Go well…Nuffzed.

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2 comments

  1. Grumpy? I agree – but maybe a few pints would help.

  2. As long as you get back to your table without tripping over a ‘rug-rat’!

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