Kids in Pubs.

When we were little tykes ourselves, my siblings and I, Mom would occasionally drag us into a friendly bar after work, always to meet one friend or another. I think we liked it. There was food. There were friendly people. Occasionally there was Ms. Pac Man or a jukebox. Usually there was a non-smoking section. Never occurred to me there might be anything wrong with it.

There was, now that I think about it, a brief period of my life when I would've hated to see kids in drinking establishments. Usually because I was going there to drink a lot and think selfish, young-adult thoughts. Children have a way of ruining that.

Now we have a kid of our own, about 7 months old now. And we enjoy going out when we can muster the energy, will, and various accessories. We take him to pubs, if it's not smoky. He doesn't seem to mind. The Belgians seem pretty tolerant of it. It wasn't until last weekend in London that we ever had an issue with it.

There was no kerfuffle or anything. Just a tired, thirsty couple of young parents who wanted to visit the Princess Louise, a real Victorian classic in Holborn. The barman politely informed us that children were not allowed. Fair enough... but it would have been even fairer to post it out front. The place was gorgeous, incredibly ornate, lots of stuff to stare at while sipping a hypothetical pint. What a tease, that Louise.

Luckily a helpful smoker outside asked if were looking for something in particular. "Just a pub." So he pointed out the Shakespeare's Head around the corner. This would become my first visit to a Weatherspoons pub.

British drinkers will need no explanation of what that means. So I will do my best to explain it to everyone else, based only on what I saw: Imagine if a giant, unremarkable English pub had sex with an American roadside truck stop, and their offspring were all cheap, messy, and incredibly useful.

Perfectly decent cask ale, and an interesting selection. Comfortable enough tables. Tons of room for us and our all-terrain stroller (um, pram, or whatever). Pages and pages of Weatherspoons ads and propaganda at every table and posted above the urinals in the men's room. Fruity gambling machines (though no Ms. Pac Man or jukebox). The food looked boring but cheap and filling.

Not a nice place. But incredibly useful. And we were welcome there. We know, because a sign out front told us so.