The moral of this story is that it's not all about the fast lane, especially on a rainy Sunday afternoon...

It’s Sunday and I’m on my way out for lunch. It’s raining.

It’s not the drizzly bearable kind, but the kind where you may as well jump in a pond and start quacking.

We run through puddles, eyes clenched, hair stuck to faces, and eventually meet our destination. Phew. Warmth and food are in sight.

It’s not a pub, but one of these trendy diner-style restaurants, which serves craft beer on tap with lots burgers and mac & cheese.

But I wish it had been a pub.

“There’s about a 20-minute wait for food at the moment, is that okay?” says the smiling man on the door.

I’m glad to be inside so I insist it’s fine.

“Great, just give me a phone number and you guys can take a wander around outside, then we’ll call you when it’s ready.”


I grimace at the gloomy wall of water teeming down outside.

“Can we just sit by the bar and wait?” I ask.

“Erm, that’s fine but you can’t order a drink.”

Oh. *face palms*

I share this with you, firstly because I’m British and love to moan about things. Especially if there is rain involved.

Secondly, because most of the pubs I’ve hung around in (a fair few) are better than this.  

The thing about these new, “hip” and “trendy” establishments is that they try so hard to do things differently sometimes, it just doesn’t work.

This place presumed that humans are no longer capable of just waiting. We needed to be out doing something, before returning directly to a laid table as if we hadn’t waited at all. Even when it’s raining.

But actually, the thought of waiting just 20 minutes by a warm bar with a pint on a grey Sunday afternoon would have been welcomed. A pub would know this. 

It’s not all about the fast lane if the slow lane's done right, especially on a Sunday afternoon. Did I mention it was raining?