Aaggh Flashbacks
When No 1 Son was a mere baby, he was an angel. He'd either sleep peacefully or charm the socks off the female members of staff by being generally blonde, blue-eyed and cute.

Wind the tape forward to the terrible twos (which are still going on and he's four next week). Not so much naughty as gets bored easily. If you can guarantee that could be in, fed and out within 45 minutes, no problem.

Waiting in pleasureable anticipation while discussing current affairs, prize-winning rose varieties and stamp collections is not what two year old hyperactive (not medically, just errrm extremely active) boys do.

Longer than that and he turns into demon-spawn. Hence a really nice curry having to be scraped into Daddy's gob in a nanosecond before taking him out to the car, while everyone else had a nice leisurely meal. I wouldn't have minded, but we were the only ones in the place.

And hurriedly-bolted curries tend to affect one's tummy, so much so that I nearly gassed him into a coma while sat in the carpark.Peace through superior arse-power.

However, we're now on the 'no nice restaurants' rule until he's bigger. Not just to spare other people, but also to control my blood pressure.

Uncontrolled spawn wrecking the joint in a blur of snot while their slack-jawed parents do shag all makes me want to draw an un-necessarily large firearm and go postal.

Hint, folks.

Doing nothing until finally cooing 'Tarquin, don't!' if middle class, or screaming 'Tyson-Rambo facking stoppit ya little kahnt' if a wearer of Lizzie Duke hoop ear-rings, after an hour of complete inaction may get you suddenly shot by the bloke at the next table.
(osok Rebel without a clue, Mon 14 Apr 2008, 17:31, Reply)