I've eaten in some odd and empty places before, but none so odd and empty as Fallowfields.
A country house/farm to the south of Oxford, the semi-permanant marque in the garden suggests the restaurant is aiming to take more from serving weddings than from day-trip punters. The food itself was fine, apart from a sickly rich gravy on the main and an overly complicated pudding. The location, however, was a cavernous room with only three tables filled, where Andrew Bocelli wailed quietly on a continuous loop and a mere whisper could be heard by all.
Once the boss came to dine with some minions, the attention of the waiting staffs evaporated and we had to retrieve the bill ourselves. Couple that with the sight of two kitchen staff (God I hope not the chef) walking past the window fag in mouth, and any enjoyment was plucked clean from the experience.
The beer was a single saving grace. A pint from Compass Brewery (I missed which one), the quality of which Fallowfields could learn from.