Now you would think a trip into town to buy some Dr Marten boots and have a bite to eat would be simple right? Me to! what transpired was a cloud of self-conscious awkwardness following us around Sheffield City centre.
To start with a positive I purchased my soft leather, comfort fit Dr Martens with a vigour and happiness that I hoped would roll into some establishment dining and I could attack some sushi with the same enthusiasm as punching my pin to make my new boots mine!
As aforementioned we had a hankering for Sushi so proceeded to our nearest ‘revolving sushi bar’ on Division Street. we peeked through the window to see how busy it was and all I could think was that we can’t sit at a revolving sushi bar and have the travel system behind us and thus ignoring our child completely. We also couldn’t sit at one of the two bench style tables as it meant our girl would be blocking the only entrance/exit to the place. Strike 1!
There is another sushi place further down the same street and I thought with it being a more cafe type vibe a pram would slot in like a pro… Nope! again the tables were so close together, I was getting angry just thinking about navigating them. Strike 2!
Having now given up on Japanese food and refusing to give into Wetherspoon’s magnetic pull as we passed it by, we decided Italian would be a good plan b. You might have guessed where this is going by now but again looking through the windows of chain and independent restaurants, we found that we were talking ourselves out of all of them for fear of becoming a burden on everyone in the establishment when I inevitably crashed into them with the pram or they walked into our stationary house on wheels for our girl. Strike 3!
At this point I was getting hangry, mainly at myself and fictitious issues I foresaw us having if we entered anywhere, so we ended up having burritos in peace gardens in front of the fountains and town hall. Now do not get me wrong, my brisket burrito with extra cheese was a Mexican mouth party but I can’t help thinking of what could have been had I braved and committed to my nigiri rolls and crispy salmon skin wet dream.
Is this how all city centre eating has to be from now on with a mad dash to the nearest Café Nero to feed and change Willow, in between impulse buys and Greggs pasties? Or did my paranoia about being ‘one of those people’ who is unanimously hated and a burden to whoever else is in the establishment I enter? I can only look back and wonder and hope I have the cahonas to just do it and see if it works next time. I apologise in advance if I crash into you!