THE WAY WE WERE

The past may be rose tinted but let’s be honest, the present is pretty shit.

We’re led to believe that progress is inextricably tethered to the inevitable march of time and that slowly but surely we are becoming healthier, better informed and more enlightened. I’m sorry, but that’s bullshit.

I’m fully aware of the more positive thesis or the ‘New Optimist’ movement, as it’s become known. In fact, I’m a big fan of Steven Pinker and Matt Ridley. I get that we are living longer, more fulfilled lives, that we’re better connected and less likely to die at the hands of another man etc but there are some nasty looking, gaping holes in this argument that are worth poking at right now.

I had the pleasure recently of an eye-wateringly expensive jaunt in a steam driven Pullman car from Victoria Station to Dover and back. And I’m so glad I did. Those few hours on a glorious hand-crafted luxury carriage were truly an immersive experience. The rattling of the silverware and the ringing of the crystal as the coal fired locomotive wended its wobbly way through the garden of England was enough to make my bifocals mist up. Yes of course, much of Kent is a shithole now, but viewed from the splendour of our marquetry clad interior, England looked rather lovely. Hopeful, even.

Of course it was all a bit of play-acting. Naturally, I dressed for the part in three piece tweeds, pocket watch, homburg and umbrella but these personal props weren’t just accessories, they were personality adjusters. I found myself sitting more upright, annunciating more precisely and folding my linen napkin with new found balletic elegance. After all, the refined environment I’d properly shelled out for expected it of me. And so I obeyed.

Contrast this with today’s first class train travel experience. The crystal glasses have been replaced with much safer disposable plastic beakers. Gone is the silverware (clearly it would all get stolen and melted down to make nose rings). The linens haven’t been seen since the invention of Formica and the exquisite hardwood interiors have obviously been replaced with much more practical graffiti resistant laminates. Perhaps the most striking difference is the arrival of the shouty warning signs and messages that constantly tell us off and warn us of all the things we shouldn’t do on every…available…bleedin’…surface. These signs are simply there to back up the endless robotic announcements about things that we might be doing wrong like leaving bags on seats, smoking in the toilets or not noticing terrorists, for example. 

You see. Warning signs and safety messages don’t always have to be ugly and shouty.

This massive cultural shift is a direct result of a series of highly practical, sensible decisions to improve things for everyone over the course of a hundred years or so. I can only assume that a Victorian yobbo once lobbed a crystal glass from the window at some point. A heinous crime that we are all, quite rightly, still being punished for a century and a half later.

Look, I know that the past is a safe place, a more innocent place, a distant land that we see as cleansed of today’s nauseating politics but, seriously, it’s not just luxury we’ve lost here…it’s the way in which our environments judge us. My Pullman experience was a stark reminder that once upon a time spaces and places actually wanted us in them. They brought us the very best the planet had to offer in luxurious fabrics, food, fine wines and personal service, and in return they demanded our respect and courtesy. The result was the undisputed golden era of public transport.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that our environments shape us, shape our behaviour our attitudes and our responses. Allowing the lowest common denominator to take ultimate control over the last century or so has delivered us an ugly, distrusting and perpetually suspicious built environment that doesn’t really want us in it. And that is no way to design the future.

So, in answer to the endless request “If you see something that doesn’t look right..” 

Well yes everything, pretty much.

Even the loos are dressed to impress

Howard Saunders is a writer, speaker and The Retail Futurist

howard@22and5.com

theretailfuturist.com

@retailfuturist

  Howard Saunders   Nov 02, 2025   Food, gourmet, Uncategorized   Comments Off on THE WAY WE WERE   Read More

ANY ALLERGIES?

Are you as sick of it as I am? The recent rise of a peculiar strain of hospitality vernacular has grown irritating to the point of banality. Here is a brief compendium of annoyance from a professional misanthrope. That is, all the hospitality no-nos that are barriers to genuine personal service.

Cheers.

You’ve just spent a hundred quid on a pair of jeans and as they swing the bag in front of you this parting remark leaves you feeling under appreciated to the point that you want to hand the bloody things back. I know the world’s gone all smart/casual but a sincere thank you might actually put a spring in your step. Too formal for anyone under the age of thirty, I guess.

Do you want a bag with that?

I know it’s not their fault but the idea that the random array of goods that lie on the counter before you could simply be gathered up in your arms like you’ve just robbed the place is maddening. Perhaps they’d prefer you to pull a crumpled old Tesco bag from your pocket to save them the menial task of actually packing the stuff. How on earth did we get to this?

Any allergies?

We all know the protocol, but it’s beyond annoying. And it’s never “may I ask if you have any allergies?’ No, that would be far too time consuming. The sheer bluntness of the question feels like a brusque doctor’s bedside manner and shouldn’t belong anywhere near hospitality. In a coffee shop recently, I pointed to a shiny bun that I thought might pair perfectly with my flat white. “Ooh” I purred in faux childish tones to make light of my impromptu indulgence. The robotic response stabbed what could have been a micro-magical moment. Oh well.

No worries

A hand me down from the school of ‘Neighbours’ no doubt and one of Gen Z’s go to fillers. I’ve even experienced it in posh restaurants where, incidentally, they spend hours making sure all the cutlery is perfectly polished and aligned so as to create a good impression. Why on earth can’t a grown up in charge tell them not to mention WORRIES!? I’m supposed to be having a good time here. 

No problem

As above but minus the Ozzie upspeak. Often, and even more infuriatingly, abbreviated to “no probs” So very, very wrong.

Have a great day

This one’s the UK version of LaLa land’s “You have a great day now”. Both are about as sincere as Gavin Newsom and grate on all non-US citizens.

You ok there?

Yes, funnily enough I’m fine. I don’t think I’ve been involved in a terrible accident, not while standing here anyway; I’m simply waiting for someone to serve me politely. I point blank refuse to answer this non question. Why can’t you simply say “Can I help?” or is that too demeaning for you? 

My brother (who’s run restaurants for forty years, incidentally) recently booked his Jaguar in for a service and after waiting at reception for a few minutes eventually two oversized eyelashes swept upwards to pose this very question. Presumably, all the bookings were on the screen, together with the details of his car and what he was there for, so it wouldn’t have been so very hard for her to say “Good morning Mr Saunders, if you’d like to leave your keys I’ll let the service department know you’re here”. That way he might buy another one.

Have you booked?

Look, this is a posh restaurant. You can see I’m all dressed up and excited about a great night out and the prospect of dropping three hundred quid on a couple of steaks. Why did you have to launch this downer, this verbal red rope, while I stand here with my wife/lover/client and ruin the mood before we’ve even taken our coats off? Try “good evening” followed by asking my name. That way I don’t feel like I’m queuing for a sightseeing bus tour.

Any room for a dessert?

No thanks, is the most likely answer to such an afterthought of a question. How about you come over and recommend something, be enthusiastic about your wares? Also, it sounds rude because it suggests you’re only there to stuff yourself to the brim.

Is everything ok?

This one’s usually lobbed at you midway through a mouthful of hot mash and for which the response is like Ed Miliband eating a bacon sandwich. We all know it’s a box ticking exercise to minimise complaints but surely you could at least attempt to make it sound genuine. And is ‘ok’ really the height of your culinary aspirations? Maybe you should put a sign in the window: “Our food is ok!” See how that goes.

Do you want?

I think you mean “Would you like or would you care for?’ (I instantly hear my mother’s scolding rebuke when I get this one).

I know elegance and etiquette are seen as dusty and antiquated these days but surely in hospitality, if not in every walk of life, we can expect some level of courtesy. It’s not like I’m holding a tray in a prison canteen for god’s sake.

Thanks mate

I know I was unashamedly cheery and this is only a bar after all, but your job is still to serve me, much as it clearly irks you. I’m not your mate, and I don’t even call my mates mate. Only plumbers.

Enjoy!

Your knife and fork are poised in symmetric anticipation when this formulaic Americanism echoes in your ears as if it’s a verbal command rather than a wish. Mate, this is not California and, thankfully, it never will be.

Try using my name ffs

I booked, you’ve seen my credit card and I’ve been here for nearly two hours so why couldn’t you thank me by name? As my brother (the one with the Jag) says “Names are the sweet spot, the most powerful currency of all.” Try harder.

Thanks for coming, see you again

Versions of this are often printed at the exit or on the receipt. Utterly meaningless unless you actually say it.

Cheers!

Howard Saunders is a writer, speaker and the Retail Futurist

howard@22and5.com

theretailfuturist.com

@retailfuturist

  Howard Saunders   May 29, 2025   Food, Uncategorized   Comments Off on ANY ALLERGIES?   Read More

PUPPY LOVE

Most trends born in California become diluted by the time they arrive on our damp and cynical shores: yoga, veganism, vegetable smoothies, poke, Botox and fillers, tooth whitening therapy, therapy, the whole athleisure-wear thing, boho-chic, hyper-gluteal augmentation, even the opioid crisis…all fade a little on their long journey across the Atlantic in order, perhaps, to acclimatise to life beneath our sullen skies. But there’s one trend that has surely been amplified en route from La La Land: canophilia, aka our obsession with dogs.

Unlike the Americans, we Brits have loved our pet dogs for over six millennia as dog culture really kicked off in 4000BC, just at the end of the stone age. So essentially, our relationship with our favourite pet rolled along perfectly happily for six thousand years…until something shifted post Covid. A cultural blip in the matrix perhaps, but today it’s impossible to go to a shop, a bar or a restaurant without a dog sniffing at your ankles.

Restaurants desperate for trade have caved. Perhaps in the name of inclusivity they hang ‘dog friendly’ signs in the window above a shiny bowl as if allowing dogs is the magic bullet they need to get back to profit. A couple of years ago I guess it looked kinda cute, but frankly it’s hard to walk down a local high street now without accidentally booting a tin bowl along the kerb. These are the places I vow never to visit, and I’m sure I can’t be alone.

Q. How does your dog smell? A. Terrible.

The age old joke wasn’t wrong. Owners who exclaim ‘My dog does not smell!’ have been inoculated with doggy stench daily over many years having never left Rover’s side. They even allow him to sleep on their bed for god’s sake. Polite customers, meanwhile, pretend it’s absolutely normal for a bear of a beast to be slumped beneath the next table even when the whiff of wet fur wafts across their creme brûlée. And if you feel an exploratory tongue douse the back of your hand at the bar you can be damn sure that it’s recently been intimate with a dog’s rear end, if not another’s then its own. Peculiarly, for a nation addicted to hand sanitiser we remain stumm. Non dog owners are mute onlookers as they watch their favourite places become, literally, dogged by mollycoddled mutts.

Cultures twist and turn but ultimately they settle by consensus. That’s why we don’t see ‘no bicycles’ signs outside bars and pubs. Culture has deemed it inappropriate to lean your muddy mountain bike alongside your table, so there’s no need to ban it. But since the ‘blip’ we must now endure legions of snapping, snarling, sneezing, yapping, gnashing, drooling, farting hounds in every establishment. And bikes don’t do any of that. Meanwhile, in crazy California where all this began, dogs are banned from restaurants and even stores that sell packaged food.

Hyper-anthropomorphism is hard to say, but nonetheless very real. Today’s dog lovers talk to their pets in cartoon baby voices, celebrate their birthdays (the day they arrived) buy them Puppucinos from Starbucks, doggy ice creams at the seaside, create Instagram pages for them, tie bibs around their necks at mealtimes and push them in doggy strollers when the poor darlings can’t keep up with the pace around Waitrose. They take up seats in restaurants, bars, buses and trains as if we must all accept that the ironically named ‘Charlie’ with the flappy tongue is simply one of us. It’s gone too far.

Clearly these beloved animals are the children we never had. It’s a dog’s job to be the child that never grows up and tells you to f*** off, basically. But they’re also living, breathing status symbols. In the countryside it’s not unusual for a family to rock up at the pub, fully Huntered and Barboured, accompanied by a brace of pony sized brutes as if to flaunt the fact that they can afford to buy steak every day of the week. They may as well drive their Range Rover into the bar. It would be less of a nuisance.

Back in the pre-gastro days it was heartwarming to see a local farmer nestled by the fire, his loyal Collie alert to any unusual comings or goings. But recently dog culture has morphed into an obsessive cult; a perverse display of narcissism that says ‘sod you, these are my true friends’. On a serious note, I believe it plays perfectly into the current phase of self loathing mankind is going through. We may love our kith and kin, but we despise humanity for everything that’s gone wrong on planet Earth. After all, no dog ever started a war.

We all know that teenage stabbings have become so commonplace the press is no longer interested. But leave a pooch in a car without the window ajar for more than fifteen minutes and you’ll be on the front of the Daily Mail beneath the word ‘MONSTER’ the next morning. Seriously, our priorities are way out of kilter.

I may not be a dog lover, but I’m no hater. I can more than appreciate the majesty of an Irish Setter bounding along a deserted beach in pursuit of a far flung stick of driftwood. I can even see it in slow motion as it shakes itself dry, water droplets glistening in the late afternoon sunshine. I simply ask that you don’t bring it sweating and panting into the pub to do that. That’s my point. Dog lovers, please spare a thought for those of us who don’t love your dog, but can definitely smell it. And restaurateurs, please be brave enough to say that your dog days are over.

Bone appetit!

Join me on X  @retailfuturist  for cherry picked proof that we’re all going crazy.

ps. Big thanks to Bing/Dall-E for all the imagery

  Howard Saunders   Feb 14, 2024   culture, Food, gourmet, pizza, Retail, Uncategorized   Comments Off on PUPPY LOVE   Read More