We mentioned a week or so
back about how it does our head in the amount of alehouses in town
that can't spell their own names on their signs – Beer off Bold
Street, the Krazyhouse and Beer Cellar to name a few.
But, if there's one thing
worse than poorly spelled signs, it's the misuse of words. On the
Albert Dock, trying to cram the tourists in, the Fart Gaff renamed
itself The Pump House (it still smells like rat stuck on an
escalator) but worse again is the Americanisation of this scruffy gaff
by Seel Street. If, Santa Chupitos, you're going to open on the
Liverpool/Wool border, you'll have to start using our language. So
Tip One; ditch 'Santa' and 'Chupitos' and say it in English –
Father Christmas' Little Chips.
Their clear shame at being
English doesn't end there. Gone is the quaint, rustic look we pride
ourselves on, also missing are fine English ales like Fosters, Bud
and Stella. In their place are stairs, these weird long seats called
'booths' and cocktails which, to our complete bamboozlement, are not
little things for warming you nobs – but a mix of a load of drinks
we've never heard of that doesn't give you any change from a tenner.
'Exclusive' is also a word
that clearly hasn't manged to cross the English Channel to America
yet, either. This place was rammed with people who, to put it kindly,
looked like they hadn't had a short back and sides in at least a
fortnight. Here at the Blob we have a motto - 'serve it and they will
come. If too many come we're a bit fucked because we haven't got many
staff, so if we ignore them long enough they'll go somewhere else and
come back when there's nobody waiting to get served.' The motto here
at Father Chrimbo's Little Chips seems to be 'we'll serve anybody.'
What's worse is that the
crowd inside are moody. As we walked around in our Nike Gumps and
Diadora Trackies we were subject to a load of funny looks and snide
comments. I don't know who 'Dave McCabes arl' fella' is and don't
care to find out. But if, as suggested, we share a rig out, then the
lad is alright for a free bottle at the Blob.
In the alehousing game,
two things are important to customers. A temperamental fruity to keep
them on their toes and an upstairs bookies. Imagine our surprise
then, when going up to get a bet on the 2:34am at Lucksin Downs, we
were met with a living room full of people in fur coats and wearing
glasses. We're all for 'Dressed by the Corpy' anonymous meetings but in place
of somewhere we can get a bet on?
Not on our nelly.
In summary; between its
bustling atmosphere, numerous staff and bad location – easily a
ten minute walk from the nearest Lobster Pot, 'Santa' 'Chupitos' gets
our lowest possible rating – 0 Cheese & Onion KPs out of 5 bags
of Monster Munch.
No comments:
Post a Comment