Crock

A woman asked today if the elderflower pressé was carbonated. She had apple juice instead because her doctor had advised her that fizzy drinks may damage her bladder lining. Her husband had a diet coke. I raised an eyebrow. "My bladder's fine" he said.
The local raspberries and strawberries served with local cream (am I getting obsessed?) are going well, so I'm now detouring to a second farm every other morning. It's a pity we can't make soup out of fruit.
"This must be a little gold mine," a man said today. It wasn't a question. So I didn't answer it.

Staggered

Witley Court had a coach party booked in for a tour today. A week ago I rang the organiser who assured me that the 42 were not going round as a group but would be left to their own devices from 11am when they arrived. They would, therefore, "dribble in" at different times for refreshment. This staggering of lunches works well. If they don't all come in at once. Which they all did.
So our day looked like this:
10-12.45 Jennifer, Gina, Freda, Nancie, Eileen and I stand around chatting, looking at the clock, drinking coffee.
12.45- 1.45 AAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHH
One of the coach party asked if a pot of tea for one held enough tea for 2 people. She then asked if our tap water was drinkable.
Not sure I'll be able to retire just yet.

Galore

I opened early this morning because of (yet) another dental appointment for my son. I was greeted with a surprise. A young cat had been locked in the tea rooms overnight. Back arched and hair standing on end she guiltily rushed past me when I unlocked the door. I spent a few minutes searching for "evidence" of her evening. I found nothing. She could eat nothing - all the food was hiding in cupboards and fridges. She could drink nothing. Unless she could open the display and unscrew a bottle of local apple juice, in which case she'd be welcome to it and I'd win Britain's Got Talent 2011. But she had done damage by somehow managing to turn off the "prep" fridge. A whole ham, now at room temperature (for goodness knows how long) was binned. Thanks, Garfield.

It's a Sin

Such a shame. I had such high hopes. Nancie came in this morning full of smiles. Last night while flicking through the channels she'd chanced upon the Glastonbury coverage of The Pet Shop Boys. It had inspired her to listen to her PSB music on the way to work. Now. I dislike The Pet Shop Boys with such intensity that when I also chanced upon them last night (Neil Tennant singing with his head in a plastic box - nufsed) it caused me to spew vitriol at the tv. The very idea that Nancie can be SO WRONG about something has worried me. How can I trust her with the jacket potatoes?
One of the first customers through the door was a woman who said: " I suppose there'll be lots of idiots watching the football this afternoon." That included me. Such a shame. I had such high hopes.

Locally groan

It was 10 people in the end. They sat outside in the evening heat and most of them had 3 courses - local asparagus (Little Witley is still producing), local strawberries - "and the salmon?" asked the lady on Table 3, "is that from a local river?" Erm, no. Local supermarket. They booked again for the next concert supper at the end of July.

Standing

My feet hurt. Today the third 16 year old came for a trial run, and I'm not sure he enjoyed himself quite so much as the girls did. He was thrown into the deep end, with Sara and I calling out encouraging words as he swam through tray delivery, washing up, putting away, clearing tables, wiping tables et al to get to the other side. Poor boy. Still I expect he learnt something - that he did not want to wind up working in a tea room so he'd better do well in his A levels.
An old school friend turned up. She said she'd heard very good things about us. A couple from Queensland wrote in the visitors' book: "a home from home, magnificent service". Now off to soak my feet and prepare for Concert Suppers tomorrow evening (3 courses for 8 people ahead of a concert in the Church). For which I'm missing the Dr Who finale. Grrrr.

"Tea" in Team

Today I met John. He's 85 and he had a latte. On his own. A few weeks ago he went to Majorca. Next week he's off to Salzburg and says he books up holidays well in advance to try to avoid the single person supplement. I like John. Another youngster came to learn the ropes today and was very impressive. She doesn't drink any hot drinks. Ever. Not even hot chocolate. Says she knows she should cos it's "grown up" to drink tea and coffee, but she just can't. How strange to wind up working in a tea rooms, serving tea, in a nation of tea drinkers to tea lovers when you can't stand the stuff. Oh, and she plays serious rugby, so I'm not about to tell her it's weird. And she'll be good in a Bank Holiday scrum.