I went for a meal to celebrate my dad’s birthday today. The whole family was there: loud brother and his girlfriend (*waves*); my sister, her feller and my niece; Mum and Dad, and family friends, Ivan and Sue. We gathered at the local Italian restaurant where we’ve conducted such celebrations for nearly thirty years. It’s a great place with good food and a friendly atmosphere. I once dined with David Beckham there, don’t you know – well, he came in for a meal while I was in there once, so it was as good as.

It was lovely, if a little lengthy. I get bored in those situations, well not in the situations as such, but the prolonged sitting at the table after finishing my meal induces tedium and irritation, not to mention a numb backside. I’d much rather be able to move from the table to the less formal bar area and have a coffee and a chat there. Or just go home so I can have a lie down.

The thing with eating at restaurants that I find just a tad annoying is the: “Is everything alright with your meal [insert: guys, sir, madam, depending on establishment]” that without fail comes just as everybody has their mouth full with food. We all muffle our approval and carry on with our meal. Then somebody else comes and asks the same thing. Yes, it’s lovely, thank you.

I’m not sure why they do this. The waiting staff at this particular restaurant are the most attentive I’ve ever known: the owner beats it into them. You can’t even reach for the bottle of wine to pour a glass without a ninja waiter appearing from nowhere to swiftly take the bottle from your hand and pour for you. They are always on hand to make sure that your meal is as you would expect, so I’m assuming that it’s purely out of curtesy that they ensure that all is well, repeatedly. I’m sure they use the same ninja skills to detect when their customers’ mouths are at their fullest to check though.

Even if you’re in a place where the food isn’t quite living up to expectations, it’s difficult to say something, well for me at least. I run through a checklist:

If the food fulfils these criteria, then I’m not one to complain, especially if I’m hungry.

I get so uncomfortable when people I’m with make a scene in a restaurant. I get incredibly uncomfortable when people I am with are unfriendly to the waiting staff. On too many occasions, my ex behaved exactly like this. On one occasion, she pursued a head waiter into the kitchen in a city centre restaurant so she could remonstrate with him. She even asked if I found it embarrassing. Of course I found it fucking embarrassing. It’s bloody rude and it’s unnecessary.

When I go to the supermarket, I actually enjoy going to a till with a real cashier and having a chat to that person. It makes the whole experience so much nicer, rather than enduring the frustrations of pleading with the self checkout, trying to convince it that the unexpected item in the bagging area is a bag. I especially like it when there’s a woman on the till who’s approaching retirement – you can have a wonderful gossip with them and it doesn’t add anything to the time it takes to conduct the transaction. Others find such conversations a terrible inconvenience and an insult to their intelligence. Well stuff them, miserable bastards.

People who work in restaurants, shops, bars, they don’t earn a huge amount of money and they work very long hours. It’s hard work and I wouldn’t like to do it. So long as they are polite and friendly, they deserve to be treated with respect – it’s a two way thing. I have learned that if somebody I am with can’t summon up the manners to be polite to the person who is serving them coffee, then I really don’t think I want to be associated with them.