Milk & Manolos

My relationship with the Harbour Club is what can only be describe as the Love / Hate sort.

There’s nothing remarkable about the club whatsoever. The extortiant monthly fees extracted gleefully from members bank accounts serve as small reminder of the dirty little relationship we share.

The Ball Pit, where the Munchkin is abused on a weekly basis by children who’s Philipino nannies are too busy gossiping on the phone or by mothers to expensively dressed to dare enter this padded cell, strangely remains one of her favourite places. This however could be due to my blue eyed, blonde haired God-Daughter, her partner in crime on these trips.

Value for money is not something to attribute to these ‘exclusive’ clubs. A lunch for two children and two adults, no alcohol rings it at £ 45, and laughingly the vegetable portion for the Bambinos includes on moderate sized broccoli floret. When extra was requested, it being a ‘health club’ and all, we were told we’d have to be charged.

The staff are amusingly terrible. At first frustrating and sheer anger making but now I take great pleasure in enjoying their incopetance on a regular basis. My particular favourite being that I request our bill from our waiter only to be told it “wasn’t his duty”.

All that said, I still have a love for the place. The people watching, the JEWELLERY watching, Mark Owen in the Ball Pit, not to mention the Piri Piri Chicken Ceasar of which I regularly dream all contribute to me going back.

It’s wrong, but feels oh so right …

This entry was posted on Friday, February 15th, 2008 at 1:24 am and is filed under Rainy Days, Days Out. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.