So it’s the World Cup final and me and a few mates are wondering round looking for a bar with a big screen. We checked out a few places in the area but they were all to packed, had crap screens or were just too expensive.
Then we tried The Grand Union, a pub that fancies itself as a bit of a swanky (ish) cocktail bar. You know the type I mean, with antique furniture set amoungst a modern black interior and barmen that can’t resist winking at your girlfriend, despite you standing right there in front of him.
We found a spot on some comfy sofas with a large screen in front of us. We still had a while for the game to start so we ordered some very tasty sounding food and drinks.
I was too hungover to drink alcohol so I ordered a pint of diet coke and the designated driver of our group ordered a half pint of the same. The barmaid served the half pint to my friend first which she took back to the group. I was pretty sure it weak and that the post mix syrup was running out but she’d already taken it back to the table.
So I watched the barmaid go on to pour my pint of diet coke, assuming that she’d notice the syrup was gone and go and change it first. I was right, she noticed but her inexperience led her to ask her more senior colleague (the type that winks a your girlfriend despite you being stood right there).
Out of earshot, but still within my sight, he brazenly told her to just fill up the remaining half a glass with regular coke (a drink that I had not ordered). I watched from the other end of the bar as she did what she was told and then brought my half soda, half coke concoction.
“That’s not what I ordered” I said.
“Yes it is, you ordered a pint of diet coke” she replied (with attitude)
“Yes I know, I ordered a pint of diet coke. I did not order half a pint of soda that’s topped up with regular coke”
“Well I’ve poured it now” she stated, as if I would suddenly chang my mind and decide that I’d like half a pint of soda topped up with regular coke.
“I can see that. Could I have a pint of diet coke please?” trying to refrain from calling her and her colleague a fucktard.
“I’ll get my manager” she said.
After a further few minutes explaining to the manager what had just happened he very reluctantly gave me a bottle of diet coke, as the post mix had run out (duh!). He then tried to charge me £2 for it, when I knew (from my designated driver friend) that a half pint of post mix costs £1.60.
I had to verbally wrestle him into submission but eventually I got the bloody drink for £1.60, which I should have been given for free after standing there for close to 15 minutes. I didn’t care about the 40p, but I refused to be mugged over by these idiots.
(Jesus this is a long review!)
Our food arrived shortly after the match started and I was shocked to find that my chicken burger must have been made with pigmy chickens. It was absolutely miniscule! And the rest of the groups food wasn’t any better either. The designated driver of the group had a salad with more oil than leaves. It was more like an oil soup with a few leaves floating round in it. She ate roughly none of it, like the rest of us with our meals.
In all, this place has the potential to be pretty decent but has been completely let down by the utter fucktardedness of it’s bar and kitchen staff, particularly Mr. Wink-a-lot.
This post can also be found on Yelp: http://www.yelp.co.uk/biz/the-grand-union-twickenham
