I would genuinely be more inclined to go if it was called Bertie and Boo’s Dystopian Nightmare (actually, that sounds awesome).
Play cafes are the eternal saviour of the sleep-deprived adult-in-charge-of-a-small-person, but sadly the pandemic has kissed goodbye to/coughed all over a hefty chunk of our favourites.
I can’t abide an ugly soft play centre, but if it’s tastefully appointed with a muted colour palette, clean lines and the odd kitschy add-on I’ll gladly climb aboard.
Thankfully our kids both love frolicking amongst the stuffed skins of deceased animals, so we were laughing here.
I’ve started to wonder how many other play cafes we’re missing out on because we haven’t happened to stumble across them on our way to something else.
Little Penguin opened back in January, in what was inarguably the worst moment to open a play cafe in the history of play cafes.
Being able to wander unobstructed by other humans without having to worry about losing toddlers in a sea of legs made it much less stressful.
It is quite nice being able to look round a museum without every other bastard in London being there at the same time.
It was a not-so-lovely THIRTY-SEVEN DEGREES on the day we visited, which is literally the same temperature as a living person’s insides.
It’s a castle but, I’ll be honest, we were only really here for the playground, which is also a castle.