Travelling north, the beautiful North,
Our brains in summer remission,
An epidemic of uselessness
Fully met with our bullish permission.
At a nice public house on the river
We selected some seats, unreserved
Within a cool room, away from the throng,
Baking outside as deserved.
The inside bar was deserted
A sign told us to order by App;
Our humour had died, neither Q-code we spied
Nor a manner of bridging the gap.
From a neighbouring table we borrowed a card
Displaying the requisite code,
But after twelve minutes no answer there came
We thought about hitting the road.
Ultimately, we made a bold stand
And repaired to the bar outside,
But when a wine list was sought from the barman
“It’s all on the App” he replied.
At a supercool Japanese restaurant
The waitress’s language was poor;
Eventually, it became very clear
It was either the App or the door.
We fumbled for a whole quarter-hour
Each feeling an absolute fool,
Plates passing us by; the staff had a try,
The order was taken Old School.
Once again, the App rears its ugly head;
No ticket is needed, for the phone is read
In order to wave airline passengers through,
Or they would be if only the App proved true.