On A More Personal Note

Might I just interrupt the usual diatribe that fills this blog with a more personal interjection on the previously-covered topic of pubs, children and the combination thereof?

At a local hostelry there is an upright piano. I believe that it is present partly as window-dressing, and, perhaps, partly for the use of the many bands that perform there if required.

I am assuming that its purpose is not for small children to pound upon its keys repeatedly, creating a cacophonous racket and comprehensively annoying the fucking daylights out of all but the profoundly deaf.

I may be wrong on this last point.

On not one, but two occasions, my companions and I have sought refuge in said establishment with the intention of consuming a beverage or two after a particularly shitty day at work, only for the enjoyment of our (frankly, over-priced) pints to be comprehensively disrupted by the hamfisted battering of the piano keys by some snot-nosed little brat.

Don't get me wrong ... were I bursting into kindergartens and demanding that the children be prevented from having fun; were I objecting to the very presence of the kids in the pub; were in being in any way, shape or form remotely unreasonable, then fair enough.

But I'm not. I just want to sit in the pub, drink my damn pint, and be LEFT THE FUCK ALONE. This is not unreasonable. I tolerate these children running around the place, making aeroplane noises, shrieking, clattering furniture, and all the rest. I tolerate all of this despite the fact that this pub -- any pub -- is an adult environment.

So, please forgive me if I draw the line here, at your precious darlings banging away at the piano. I'm sorry. Don't whine at me, or look at me like I'm some kind of villain from a fucking Dickens novel. I just want to drink my fucking pint, OK?

Particularly, don't come over and try to have a go at me for stifling your little darling's fucking creativity.

"She only wants to play the piano for a few minutes ..."

Two key points here, madam.

One: she's not playing the fucking piano. She's making a discordant racket that's giving me a headache.

Two: she's already been doing it for several minutes. I've been waiting for you to do something about it and, now it's perfectly apparent that you have no intention of doing so, now I've complained to the bar staff. Speaking of whom, don't think I haven't twigged that in a splendid display of spinelessness, you've pointed me out to this drunken harridan and explained that it was me that complained.

If you want to indulge your child's creative impulses, then good. Fantastic. I couldn't be happier.

Find an appropriate environment and do it there, but keep it the hell away from anywhere I want to have a drink. Are we clear?