Children in pubs

I like to portray myself as a grumpy old bastard. Even though I say so myself, I think I've done a pretty good job. Possibly because that's my true character. But there's one point on which I deviate from my crusty manifesto: children in pubs.

I took Lexie with me to Wildeman on Saturday. Here in Holland taking your kids down the pub is perfectly normal. Everyone does it and no-one minds. Just as well, because even if it had been socially unacceptable, I'd still have done it.

My kids were pub regulars before they could walk. Mostly in Bedier, a pub next to the sixth most dangerous road junction in Holland. But I'd take them into town to Belgique and Wildeman, too. I won't pretend that there weren't some hairy moments. Andrew had a habit of running off down Nieuwedijk if I didn't keep a close eye on him. And Lexie, well, was Lexie. He's inherited my psychopathic streak.

Now I'm reaping the benefit of getting the kids accustomed to pubs early. They sit there nicely and, if they get fed up, fiddle with one of their many electronic devices. Or say "Dad, I'm bored. Can we go home now?" Which is fair enough. But I can usually get 1.5 to 2 hours boozing time. More than enough, even for a pisshead like me.

Of course, the British way is much better. Confine kids in the beer garden with a bottle of pop and a bag of crisps until they're 18 (or 16, to be more realistic). Drop adolescents right into adult life - and alcohol consumption - cold. Just like they used to throw kids into the river to teach them to swim. Yes, Europe has much to learn from Britain.

I've been in London

If you've been wondering why I haven't posted since Tuesday, I've been in London for a few days. With the family.

The with the family bit is important. That's why I managed to hit so few pubs. Britain and its crazy attitude to kids in pubs is quite a shock to someone who lives on the Continent. OK, there's been a slight improvement since the days when kids weren't allowed in pubs at all, but the situation is still far from perfect.

The biggest problem is working out which pubs do allow kids. There's virtually never anything on the outside to tell you what the score is. Apart from the occasional surly "over 21's only" sign. These are the options:

1. Walk in pushing the kids in front of you and waiting to see if you're told to bugger off.
   
2. Peer through the window to see if you can spot any sprogs inside.
   
3. Get Dolores to ask the barstaff if children are allowed.
   
4. Leave the kids on the pavement with a bag of crisps and a bottle of pop.
   
5. Sit outside with the smokers.
   

None of this encourages pub-crawling, which I suppose could be a good thing. In theory.

The problem should solve itself in a couple of years. My sons are both tall. By the time Alexei hits twelve, he should be able to pass for fourteen. So just three more years to put up with this crap.