Things are a lot better these days – going out to work & financial independence have made it easier, sometimes necessary, so it no longer looks so odd to others, even if you are doing it simply because you prefer your own company sometimes.
England has always been a particularly difficult country to find somewhere for a woman to eat on her own, especially in the evenings. In the Swinging Sixties the Wimpy Bar near Paddington station carried a prominent notice: NO UNACCOMPANIED WOMEN SERVED AFTER 10pm.
In the 1970s & early 80s I used to find a hotel coffee shop a very good bet; you could get a simple bowl of tomato soup or a full three course meal - together with wine to drink! – without standing out or attracting men who thought you must be on the pull; not that there wasn’t usually at least one man who would come over to ask – politely - if he could buy you a drink. An equally polite refusal never offended.
If you were staying in a hotel you could of course use the dining room, but one had to be feeling quite strong sometimes to go in to the bar for a drink. The barman would always ask, before serving you: Are you a guest at the hotel, madam? (Or are you a hooker, understood).
In other countries – especially France & the USA – you never seemed to be alone in the same way, there was always at least one other woman who looked perfectly at home in the neighbourhood bar, bistro or café.
Hotel coffee shops disappeared by the late 1980s; small cafes were also disappearing & the chain coffee shop had not yet arrived on every street; that is when I first began to acquire my McDonalds habit.
It is a mistake to think that McDonalds are all the same; the core menu never varies, but the rest of the offer changes with the nature of the clientele, as does the atmosphere. I once made the mistake of thinking I could nip into the Marble Arch branch for a refreshing cup of tea – I did not get half way to the counter before I realised the hopelessness of expecting a bit of peace & quiet amidst all the large, mainly middle eastern family groups.
The much smaller branch near the (then) British Library was, in the evenings at least, occupied mainly by studious looking grown ups, in ones or twos, & they had pizza on the menu.
It is only recently that I have picked up the old habit again. The branch I frequent these days caters to a good mix: local families & students, older people & sales reps. It generates quite a communal spirit, in a surprising way, encouraged by the McDonalds loyalty scheme.
I only became aware of this scheme in a different branch when a young homeless woman came in (hands black with ingrained dirt) & went round the tables, begging for cash I assumed. It was only after she had left that a woman sitting nearby explained that she had been asking for the token from my cup of tea.
The scheme is quite ingenious; you can peel off a section of the card from the outside of the hot drink carton, then stick on to it the peel-off token ; collect six of these & you get a free hot drink of your choice. And since this free drink will also come with a token, in effect you get 1 free drink for every 5 that you pay for after that first 6.
Many people seem unaware of, or not bothered about the scheme, & I confess I felt snobbish about it at first. But then why is it OK to have a loyalty card from Caffe Nero? Why look a gift horse in the mouth, Mrs Bucket?
Some people are very enthusiastic collectors of the tokens & will unashamedly ask for them from a stranger at the next table. The first person to ask me was a grandmother, out with grandfather & four grandchildren. I was sorry to disappoint her – I had already stuck it to my card. Oh don’t worry about it, said grandfather, she’s obsessed with the things.
The next occasion it was a young studenty looking man who asked me for my token as I got up to leave. He was not the least disappointed that I could not oblige: The important thing is that someone makes use of it.
Oh, it’s a principle, is it? I said, & he blushed.
`Another time I was the recipient of the generosity. A tall, slim thirty-something Chinese man, obviously an academic or professional, suddenly appeared at the side of my table, holding out his hand, palm upwards. A token was loosely attached to each of his three middle fingers.
I am ashamed to say that my first reaction – which I do hope did not show – was offence: I don’t need your charity. I recovered my manners & accepted with a smile. He returned to his nearby table (he must have seen me peel off the token from my cup), where his two children were watching with interest. Why did you do that? asked one, prompting a mini lecture on how the loyalty scheme works.
Just the other day a small boy, no more than 5 or 6 appeared at my side &, rather imperiously, demanded my token. I explained that it had gone; he rubbed his finger over the cup to check. Well, who’s tooken it then? he asked in indignation.
He went right over to the other side of the restaurant when he left, so I guess he must have been round all the other tables before he got to mine. I hope he had managed to get some reward for his efforts.
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English as she is spoke
English as she is spoke
