Cyberia
Service Ignorance may be bliss, but being ignored hacks you right off. Basically the service is crap.

No one seemed to want to serve me. It may be something to do with the dress code, as I was the only person in an Aquascutum two-piece and Jacqui O sunglasses with a briefcase. Rucksacks are de rigeuer.The problem was trying to tell the staff from the punters, as everyone wears logo infested T-shirts that all advertise something techie.

I had to demand to be helped, using my loudest received pronunciation, only to be told by one of the ubiquitous T-shirt wearers, "sorry, I'm just the chef..." Once I was served and settled, someone did apologise for the wait - for technical reasons "there was a lot of stuff going wrong which we had to sort out..." Which confirmed my deepest suspicion that anybody who knows anything about computers has an exceptionally weak grasp of the English language.

The place looks and feels like a student common room. There are bright colours and dreadful indie music, lots of posters and hand-outs about higher planes I'd never heard of before. The wooden floor needs a major repair, re-sanding and varnish, and they should fill in all the holes. I lost the heel of a new pair of this season's must-haves, which probably cost a lot more than these people spend a year on their drug habits. However, I doubt this would worry most of the clientele who probably sleep on bare floorboards anyway.

The customers, most of them on work-avoidance therapy, have dragged themselves out of their squats or mobile homes, but thankfully left their mangy mongrel dogs at home tied up with string to the single electric bar heater. That they could consider spending their meagre Giro cheques on such a public display of social ineptitude is beyond me.

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