![]() “What’s happening?” she hissed, a stage whisper. The dad on the other table replied to her: “You’re welcome to go to bed if you like.” My daughter looked at me with eyes like blue plaques. Not at the desire to simply eat in peace, I get that, but more at the lack of nuance allowed when discussing parenting and the move to segregate our fragile communities even further. I wrote about it, with a certain bemusement. Then, from behind me, I heard a woman say, “ISN’T IT BEDTIME YET?” The hairs on my neck stood up.Įarlier this year, a debate about childfree spaces roared across the internet. They were owls for a little while, then some form of Spider-Men and then they got excited about a tomato plant on a shelf which was actually delightful. At 7.30pm, after some exploratory smiles, my three-year-old and the boy on the next table started playing. I wouldn’t have been surprised if the room had spontaneously burst into song. ![]() The restaurant was full by now, an older couple, another family with a little boy, a mother with teenage kids, and everyone merrily busied themselves with the bread and then some soup, and the waitress lit candles and updated us on the emergency electrician, and there was a general sense of good time camaraderie. ![]() From behind me, I heard a woman say, ‘ISN’T IT BEDTIME YET?’ The hairs on my neck stood upĪ power cut had taken out the electrics, which meant no light, no heat and no ovens. ![]()
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