The majority of medium and large restaurants these days have a non-smoking section, and quite rightly so. Non-smokers, of whom I am one, object to inhaling the nicotine-laden clouds that this habit produces, especially when attempting to enjoy a meal. To them it is unpleasant, distracting, distasteful and injurious to their health.
And it is for exactly the same reasons that I would like to propose the creation of another area; the "No-Children Zone".
Picture the scene; a man in search of a quiet, enjoyable meal enters a Little Chef. (Okay look, I admit I was on a hiding-to-nothing on the "enjoyable" front, and quite possibly on the "meal" front as well now that you mention it, but I thought I might at least manage one out of three!) He sits at an empty table in a quiet area of the establishment and places his order. As the waitress turns and walks away, it happens... The family from hell explode onto a neighbouring table. Three women in the mid-to-late-twenties range, four children in the four-to-eight years and 90-to-120 decibel ranges.
A strident seven year-old immediately begins to shriek, "I want mushrooms! I want mushrooms!" at the top of his lungs a mere two feet from the man's left ear. A four year-old girl decides that the family's menus would be easier to peruse on the floor and relocates them in that direction. Being of a helpful nature she does the same to the ones on the man's table too. One child of indeterminate age and sex needs to go to the lavatory, every three minutes and twenty-four seconds for the entirety of the meal. The remaining child merely wails unceasingly; cause unknown. To their credit, the accompanying adults attempt to regain order. To everyone's regret, they fail.
Does our subject protest? Does he abandon his order and leave? Does he admonish the family for their children's behaviour? Does he rail against the fates that led their paths to cross?
Certainly not; he's British!
Instead our subject smiles quietly to himself, drives his fingernails through the palms of his hands and, if left long enough, spontaneously combusts.
On that occasion I reached Level 2.5 (scarred palms and heartburn).
I would have written this incident off and purged it from my memory but for a question I was asked the following day. A passer-by stopped me in the street and enquired, "Is there anywhere I can go for a quiet meal?"
In the light of the recent incident this was far more than just a casual query. It almost bordered on the philosophical. In the hurly-burly of modern life, is there anywhere that any of us can go for a quiet meal?
Most reasonable people will show a degree of consideration towards their fellow diners. However, children are not reasonable people. The quietest chick in the nest gets the least food and this pattern has undoubtedly permeated through the aeons of evolutionary progress into the restaurants of today. It took Gallileo many years of intensive study and research to realise that the Earth revolves around the Sun. Any four year-old knows instinctively that the Earth actually revolves around him. (The task of determining from where the Sun shines will be left as an exercise for the student.)
Children are not usually as prevalent in Chinese and Indian restaurants, but there another factor takes over; ethnic muzak.
Friends of mine of Indian and Chinese extraction have confirmed that this bastardised version of their musical heritage is just as painful to their ears as to mine. The nearest English "cultural" equivalent is probably the east-end cabaret singer informing the world that 'e done it 'is way. The nearest auditory match is probably someone stringing a violin with catgut without first detaching it from the cat.
Just as quiet restaurants are a rarity, so are quiet places where one can take food. Libraries and museums sternly forbid this, as do most buildings which are open to the public. Outdoor picnics may be a possibility in some parts of the world, but in the Northwest of England they are unfeasible on all but a handful of days of the year.
"Is there anywhere I can go for a quiet meal?"
All these ruminations occurred long after the fact. At the time I was faced with this perplexing question I merely smiled back at the tall, slim, lissom, blue-eyed brunette who had asked it and replied, "Certainly, my house is just up here to the right!"
To my lasting regret the young lady in question unfortunately did not accept invitations of that nature from men with scarred palms...