A simple thing, and one that deserves a mention.
I organised a few mates to meet up on the evening of the 10 October, to celebrate the end of me being 29... I called The Clapham North a couple of days beforehand to ask for a table for about 8 friends, for about 8.30pm. Lovely.
After a really lovely meal at the always-brilliant San Marco's, we were, of course, running Italianately late.
The table I'd booked for half 8 seemed to have been moved to 8pm. As we got there at 9.15ish, I was greeted by something of a frown from the manager... Was my table ready? Well, we *were* very late, he pointed out. More than an hour late. I apologised. He walked off.
I worried. The theme of the entire turning-30 episode of my life seemed to be echoing through the pub. Unsuccessful.
But: he'd gone to move some people from a table in the window, and arrange a few chairs around it. Business-like, within a few minutes, he'd installed an area just for us, and with a nod, disappeared behind the bar again. We'd smiled at those moving for us, sat down and proceeded to have a really fun evening.
Nice bloke. Yes, pissed off at us not keeping time, but helpful enough to get us exactly what we wanted too.
Another reason to like this pub. The other: it will always make me think of JC's cardigan on that very early January date (#2?).
No, no, they can't take that away from me.