In the 60s – as a callow but engaged pretty young girl who started her weekend at the Markham Arms, Kings Road, and kicked her heels at the Pheasantry – I used to visit Ma Sheekeys.
It was popular with sports stars – Henry Cooper and Johnny Haynes used to tuck into their sea food there.
Now it’s part of the Richard Caring chain.
I was part of the Rust party going to Leopoldstadt and I was deputed to book the restaurant and went for Sheekeys, which was round the corner from the Wyndham Theatre.
My readers know how critical I am of poor greeting and welcome at a restaurant.
I can be equally critical when leaving. I’m sick and tired of unacceptable delays in bringing the bill and in finding my coat in the cloakroom.
The latter happened at Sheekeys. I handed my cloakroom ticket to a restaurant greater for collection, was told to wait, then informed I was in a private function by some supercilious bastard to whom I explained I was still awaiting my coat.
“Do you have a ticket?“
“No, he took it away“.
Eventually I grabbed somebody/anybody to sort this out.
This – and the blandest mash potato I have tasted since some I bought some from ASDA for £2 – persuades me that, whilst I enjoyed Sheekeys in the 60s, I don’t a few years on … it will be sometime (at £94 per head) before I return.