Now having only been to the Mason Arms in Wickersley once before on a riotous six nations Saturday afternoon, I was a little dubious about taking my 2 week old daughter and grandparents there for lunch but decided to risk it.
With my only thought of the place being, ‘I enjoyed that scampi and chips after 5 pints of Guinness watching England come back to beat Wales’. I was curious to see how this rowdy sports bar would transform intoy family pub dining.
As we entered through the main doors, what was once a sea of testosterone and Brut for men, had been morphed into a quiet well laid out setting with the only solitary noise being the clink of pint glasses. we made our way to the main dining area where we were greeted with the piercing cry of another new-born child trying to get his point across in the only way he knew how. I’ll be honest, at this point I thought this was a glimpse into my immediate future and I would also have to suffer through ear ringing squeals and awkward glances around the room to make sure people aren’t staring and thinking of calling the authorities.
we took our seats and the general vibe of the place during the day was one of being in someones massive living room, which happened to serve beers and have staff. It was even decorated similar to my home with industrial greys and mismatch furniture so we were off to a good start. First drinks in and the menu being perused by all parties, my daughter began to stir at which point we quickly dived into the Mary Poppins nappy bag to retrieve our travel bottle and milk prepared earlier like a blue peter special minus the sticky back plastic. The slight panic that my child would soon fill the room with red-faced screams was short-lived as my groggy girl casually waited for her bottle like a hero. when asking staff for a jug of cold water to cool the bottle a little, I was elated at the bar staffs willingness to help and made it seem like babies are a usual daily practice for them. As my girl guzzles milk like she was chugging a beer bong, we looked at the menu and made our choices.
The milk was finished just in time for our food to arrive and with my girl in a milk induced trance, we ate and caught up with the only tangent being the sympathy offered to the other couple in the pub whose child was not as docile as mine after their milk.
The food was great pub grub with my burger being what I would call ‘proper beef’ like a steak burger and the pie looking every bit homemade. we had managed to get through our mains scot-free and even felt confident enough to go in for dessert.
The horror story I had imagined of eating cold food because most of my time was spent wiping sick off my top or swaying frantically saying soothing words my baby ignores was actually a nice chilled out meal with my grandparents, which just happened to have a nappy change interval thrown in.
Now this may have just been beginners luck as my daughter has since decided to tell the whole of Asda that I hadn’t fed her enough while paying for the ‘big shop’ with what can only be described as a battle cry to arms. Trying to feed and wind a baby in the back of a fiat panda in torrential rain in an Asda car park is a lesson I shall remember next time we decide to ‘quickly nip out’ while she’s sleeping!