Wine

Stress.
Puppy wanting attention, customers wanting attention, and a 3 course "concert supper" for 18 people after hours. The music committee at the Church organises 4 special concerts during the year and the brochure contains an invitation to book a pre-event meal with us.
It felt like a restaurant for a few hours, except that we're not licensed so they brought their own wine (one didn't bring a screw cap. Cue frantic search for a corkscrew).
The "event" was a performance by the choristers of St George's Chapel, Windsor. They all arrived by coach for a rehearsal this afternoon, then had tea with us. After sandwiches and crisps and cake they gave us a private mini-performance: Panis Angelicus, complete with a hiccough from one of the boys who'd only just finished his tea.
It was remarkably moving.
A bit like a Britain's Got Talent audition.

Toast

I was relieved it was a quiet day. I spent two hours during the night waiting for the puppy to wake up and whine. While I waited I worried about the concert suppers tomorrow night and the homemade lasagne I'm meant to be offering to 18 complete strangers.
Then Jessie did wake and whine and I spent 20 minutes in the garden.
Today is election day and the people chose stuff not on the menu.
The first wanted two slices of toast with butter and jam. To take away. That opened a floodgate. The next bloke asked if we could do scrambled eggs on toast. Nancie raised her eyebrows, but complied.
Not a single mocha, hot chocolate, latte or cappuccino.
Strangest of all not a single slice of chocolate cake.
What's happened to the world?

Top dog

Today was a crackin' day. One couple told me all about Cape Verde. Two talked about their dogs and what not to do with mine (she arrived today - we're all in love, but then we haven't been through a night with her yet). Simon told me our bread to paté ratio on the ploughmans was perfect. A family from the Netherlands wrote in the visitors book: "Loved your soupe".
Mary is better.
We didn't run out of milk.
Noone mentioned the election.
Fantastic.

May the fourth be with you.

I picked up bread and asparagus soup bags, made the soup (for the first time), went to buy salad supplies from the farm shop, made myself a takeaway coffee and left Jennifer and Freda to do the rest. Lovely.
In a bizarre twist to my life what I'd really wanted to do on my birthday was not to have a massage (though that would be lovely) or go shopping, but to vaccuum my house. Whilst the tea rooms look lovely my own house is a dump, and tomorrow an 8 week old black labrador joins our family (are we completely bereft of any sense? You judge.). I managed to sort out one room by moving the debris into another and then went to the pub for lunch.
Jennifer and Freda coped admirably with Sara's help.
Six people ate my soup.

A date for the dairy.

Today was mad. Morning coffee ran into lunch merged with afternoon tea. I can barely believe it. We ran out of milk AGAIN. The woman in the garage couldn't believe it either. Forty pints were in the fridge this morning. All gone by 3.30 as the Bank Holiday crowds descended. I am whacked. Mary called in sick so Nancie drove to my aid and there were just two of us there when they started to come. And when the rest of the staff arrived at 12 there were trays lined up, orders to complete, mochas to make and tables to clear. No let up til 4, when we could finally breathe. My 10 year old son arrived back from cub camp in the midst of the mayhem. He was wearing every item of clothing he'd taken, except his pyjamas. I presume to save him having to fold and pack. Genius. He was very round, and very red in the face.
I really must get to grips with these Bank Holiday Mondays. There's another one in 4 weeks.

Musical Chairs

The coach party came at 1130 with Liam, the driver. They were on a mystery tour and many of them asked where they were.
I was nervous about the afternoon event. 50 parents coming from 3.30, then the 10 schoolkids giving the recital at 4.30 (what happened to jelly boy? - he didn't make himself known) plus other people unaware of what was going on in the Church, just out for a Bank Holiday weekend. It went by in a blur: 50 cups, 50 saucers, dozens of pieces of cake and 27 scones, jam and cream. Not a penny changed hands - all free to the families, paid for by the organising committee. Every plate and every cake fork were in use. And in the midst of this a woman demanding hot chocolate, "I don't drink tea, coffee or squash" she said, "and nor does my daughter". I apologised but suggested, gesturing at the queue, and the lack of places left to sit, that we were too busy to accommodate her needs. So she went to Nancie and said I'd ok'd it. Nancie is made of stronger stuff than that, but stopped short of suggesting she should have brought a flask.
We ran out of milk again. We have some now, but the garage in the village doesn't.

On a plate

"We heard your advert on the BBC" they said. They were Shropshire folk, from Telford, and they didn't tune in til after the riff-raff comment. Phew. We were promised rain and not much fell (it's coming down now) so there were plenty of people sitting outside. I spent most of the afternoon with my hands in a washing up bowl which, strangely, made a pleasant change.
Special mention on May Day to the young Hungarian woman who wore a garland of dandelions in her hair. She had a scone and peppermint tea.
Two more coach parties booked in today for later in the year.
Tomorrow morning we're expecting a coachload from Ashby de la Zouche and in the afternoon we have to give tea and cake to a young choir and fifty others. One of the choir can't eat dairy produce. At this stage all I have to offer him is jelly.