Morecambe:

Morecambe’s spoons. I don’t think we caught it at a good time, mid afternoon on a sunny bank holiday, but this was the grimmest pub of our holiday. It got off to a bad start with only dark ales on offer- in summer, compounded it by the usual spoons trick of making the toilets a considerable hike, added to it again by not allowing us to take our drinks outside (so why provide fucking tables?), and finished it off with the typical food detritus, sticky table, and noisy children combo that can affect a Wetherspoons all too often. We left, quickly, for the seafront pubs and a pint in relative peace.