More proof in today's Guardian that Simon Hoggart doesn't live in the real world.
There he is, moaning about motorway service station food and bigging up those lovely quiet, country pubs a mere ten mile round trip from a convenient junction.
"...it was wonderful: amazingly helpful staff, really nice food, a selection of real ales that would have been seriously tempting if I hadn't been driving, and ferocious log fires."
Yes, Simon. It sounds like a nice place for a pub lunch, if a little fucking hot. But an extra half an hour driving and an extra hour to wait for your food as you look longingly at the beer pumps like a fox slavering over chickens in a safe coop! Still, I suppose you've got all the time in the world as you go up and down the country by train and car, week in, week out, for no apparent reason.
"They were full but somehow found another table for us. 'Well, we couldn't turn you away, could we?' said the landlady."
Of course they're not going to turn you away, Simon! There's a pretty good chance you're going to give them free advertising as you're always banging on about what you've eaten the previous week! Unless, of course, they're in the habit of letting any old travelling Joe and Joanne turn up unannounced and share a table with a family of welcoming locals.
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