A rant against bar stools

What have a got agains bar stools? I'll tell you.

I recently had bar stools at Dehesa. I hate bar stools.

I hate heights. I hate climbing. It's as much of a challenge as limbing Mount Everest.

I'm joking. No. For me getting on a bar stool is like getting on a horse. I try to hang on. It tries to bolt.

Or climbing on a Harley Davison motorbike. I straddle it and fall off the other side.

Ranting Against Bar Stools
I did my pole-vaulting impression, perched with the uncertain air of a parrot shifting about on bar, about to speak words everybody waited for. I tried to look agile and nonchalant.

Being on a bar stool put me in a bad mood for the whole meal. Are you sitting comfortably? No. I feel like I am in an airport lounge, exposed to people pushing past. if somebody runs off with my bag or the phone on the table I cannot race after them without doing an impression of an Olympic diver.

I want to cling onto the table with one hand, whilst holding onto my tote bag with the other hand. I am unbalanced, precarious.

I am tense. I fear I might fall. It's like eating a snack of pot noodles on a trapeze.

Bar stools must be designed for drinkers at bars, so they move on quickly to make way for others, and fall off as soon as they have had the second drink; approved by people who want the most uncomfortable chairs in order to get a quick turnover of diners who don't linger.

Did I say any of this? No. My fellow diners were not aware of any problem. (It's our secret!)

Bar stools have only one use. Sitting up high to play electric organs on x shape supports.

Angela Lansbury, travel writer and photographer, author and speaker.