Do you have to be so bloody happy?

Went to a little cheap and cheerful Italian restaurant in Newcastle for lunch today. It was as usual, full of raucous, happy, chattering, over-friendly staff and chokka with customers who seem to appreciate being greeted in a sort of high pitched Geordie-Italian by waiters/esses in loose tops and tight trousers.

Haven't been in for a while as I found an alternative further down Dean Street, one that is efficient and miserable, the serving staff have an average age of 70+ and they bring the food and tear back into the kitchen incase you ask for anything useful like parmesan or pepper or a fork. But they have worked out why you're there, you want food not entertainment.

Anyway, as the sleet and hail was doing horizontal at 40mph we went into the nearest 'Iti' to the bus stop. Usual faces and the same touchy feely stuff, inane questions and bouncing, flouncing service. How do they manage to pretend to be so happy all the bloody time. Even when they get a miserable git like me they still want to be sort of, well err... 'happy'. So there's today's Blip, Happy Lasagne with Happy Garlic Bread and "Have a nice day". "Ugh".