PERHAPS this is difficult to believe but the sun shone in Beggarsdale last week. For a couple of hours. The weather forecast had promised tropical rainstorms, tidal waves, blizzards and erupting volcanoes.

As no-one takes any notice of the weather forecasts any more because they are so hopelessly inaccurate, some visitors were out and about when the sun showed its face and a few stopped for lunch at the Beggars' Arms.

These people are generally made very welcome by the Innkeeper and his lady because this year's appalling summer following on from last year's foot and mouth debacle has made business very tough indeed.

But even with hard cash at stake, Mine Hosts were hard pressed indeed to put up with the antics of one family: small, nervous dad, tall, thin, po-faced mum, and two hyper-active kids, a boy and a girl aged about seven and eight.

They sat at a table outside by the front door. The woman went to the bar to order her veggie burgers and fizzy waters and the Innkeeper listened patiently. It was the straws that caused the first inkling of friction...

The woman, you see, had ordered two glasses of fizzy water with straws. And as the Innkeeper pushed the drinks across the bar, he pulled a couple of straws from a multi-coloured jar.

"That won't do at all," said the woman, her long, thin face taut.

"Sorry, Madame," said the Innkeeper, puzzled. "I don't think I understand."

"One's red and one's green," the woman snapped. "That's sure to cause a squabble."

The Innkeeper, thoroughly bemused, looked down at the drinks on the bar.

"The straws," she explained. "They are different colours. That will cause a fight because whoever gets the green one will want the red one and vice versa."

From outside came a thwack, a wail, and into the bar came running the little girl. "Tristram's hit me," she cried.

"Never mind, precious," chirped the woman to the girl. In a different tone entirely, she snapped at the Innkeeper: "You see, they've started already."

"That is hardly my fault," said the landlord. "Perhaps you should maintain better control over your children."

"Really," said the woman, pushing her purse back into her bag. "In that case, I think we shall find another establishment for lunch..."

Normally, his wife would have been furious at lost business but, only a few days before, they had been discussing a newspaper article saying that parents are now frightened of their children.

Rather than cementing a marriage together, today's so-called experts believe that children are so demanding that they actually burst that ancient institution asunder.

Time was when a good smart slap round the back of the leg did wonders for family discipline. That, of course, is illegal nowadays. The last straw, so to speak.

* The Curmudgeon is a satirical column based on a fictitious character in a mythical village.