THE restaurant’s name has been withheld to protect its reputation. After all, no food dispensary worth its pepper grinder would knowingly wish to be associated with such loutish behaviour.
The five-strong party disregarded the manager’s request to wait until they could be seated by staff. Instead, three children, aged 10, eight and six, ignored all barriers and requests and noisily made for window seats, while dad and grandma yelled even louder in a vain attempt to bring them to heel.
Grandma, her features obscured by a tray full of face furniture, expressed her distaste with several four-letter words. Dad and the kids seemed immune to her profanities.
Ordering food was a nightmare for the staff. Children procrastinated and were generally a pain in the neck, while dad loudly bemoaned that they had not gone to his first-choice café. After what seemed an age, the food arrived. Table manners were absent; all five spoke at the same time – and with their mouths full.
Eventually the six-year-old accidentally dropped some gravy-soaked veg from his fork and on to the table cloth.
“Pigs in s***!” sneered the father before ramming a hefty portion of mashed potatoes into his mouth from the blade of his knife.
ONE could be forgiven for believing the French had invaded us. Mind you, they were mostly teenagers. Seating was at a premium and the 11 young people who found a perch on the semi-circular bench outside the Santander Bank at Carfax considered themselves fortunate.
With Gallic courtesy they tried to make room for another boy and then a girl. This was done by shuffling left to right on the seat.
It seemed to work until the 14th tried. This was one shuffle too many and the chap at the right end found himself unceremoniously deposited on the ground.
Everyone laughed – even the boy. But for some reason no one offered him a place even though he had been unceremoniously dumped. His laughter turned to a scowl followed by hard words and gestures.
Not much ‘cordiale’ about this ‘entente’!
THE young street entertainer was from Finland. He took up his spot in Cornmarket Street, laying out a rope – behind which the ‘crowds’ were asked to stand – and three feet of heavy chain. He adjusted and readjusted, fussed and fussed, talked and talked, achieving nothing.
Eventually he promised a “performance and a grand finale”. The “performance” was to juggle six balls for less than a minute; the “grande finale” to somersault over a prone figure and the chain held by two young men. It lasted about five minutes.
Holding out his cap, he told the audience his work was worth £2 a head. Exit audience at speed.
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