Change is gonna come

Today was the best of the big days so far. Cake, cake and more cake was cut, displayed, served and eaten together with a lake of tea. The magnet system proved a winner - it needs tweaking but it really works. My stress levels stayed surprisingly low despite the crowds because I wasn't seeing trays backing up. The first lunch order (jacket potatoes) went into the kitchen at 1145, the last (ham on granary) at 1650. I fought a constant battle with the contents of the till: I started the day with loads of change. I even had back-up pound coins and 10ps. The situation would look healthy one minute and then 3 customers and 3 twenty pound notes later and I was staring at a problem. But then there's always someone who empties their pocket/purse of coins at exactly the right time to pull me from the brink. And I have to stop myself kissing them.

S'gone

A good Bank Holiday so far. What looked like a large number of staff this morning (9 in total) turned out to be justified as people started to arrive at lunchtime and continued to arrive until 5.05. We baked scones this morning as usual. 35 in the batch. By lunchtime they'd all gone and we took the highly unusual decision to bake again. At the end of the day we had 2 left. Tomorrow is forecast good weather, and I've booked the same number of people to help. Fingers are crossed that 9 is enough.

A time and a place

A second coach party from Kent today. It was a rainy, grim day so had it not been for them we'd have been pretty quiet. Still the slow afternoon allowed us to discuss coleslaw. I mooted that we should make our own. We (Mary, Nancie and I) then talked about recipes, how and when we'd do it, how to minimise waste. We're going to buy cabbage, carrots etc after the Bank Hol and try it out. I kept my powder dry about introducing chilli as a jacket potato filling. Perhaps we'll talk that over on the next slow day. This evening a woman arrived as we were closing to say she was "very upset". We'd moved her dad's bench (a bench with a plaque bearing his name). I had no idea there was a bench position. I went out with her, told her not to be upset and to feel free to move it wherever she wanted to. She didn't smile. At all. I pointed out that we'd treated the bench before opening up, and cleaned up the plaque. I didn't point out that the bench had been in the same place for more than 2 months. I wonder how often they visit it?

Repeat attenders

The little dolphins come most Fridays after their swimming lesson in Abberley. Their mums were the ladies who prompted me all those weeks ago to buy more high chairs, and on Friday lunchtime they use all three and generally order jacket potatoes. People who visit regularly are a real pleasure. David and Katie, for example, often come three times a week for scones or fruit cake with tea. Their daughter Kelly brings her children and has a toasted teacake and a cappuccino. Simon and Sue come on Wednesdays (although after last Wednesday I shall have to coax them back). Simon has an Americano. Sue likes asparagus soup. And millionaire's shortbread. Wendy has a skinny cappuccino. Her daughter likes the apple shortcake.
Sometimes I try to guess what first time visitors are going to choose. An older couple is the easiest - go for two teas, slice of fruit cake for him, victoria sponge for her and it'll hit the mark most of the time.

Très Simples

A day away from base, but a sort of brainstorming session with Becky at a fine Worcester establishment which serves lattes with a leaf shape on top. A bit beyond us at present. Items on the agenda:
1. Running out of mugs during morning coffee
2. Running out of room for trays during busy lunchtimes
We solved 1. by going to Marks and Spencer and buying more mugs. Ingenious.
We are going to try out a solution for 2. which involves magnets. Usually each written order is placed on a tray which is then filled with cups, milk, knives etc. but with lots of orders and a wait for food we often run out of space during busy times. What we're going to try out is pinning orders along a metal shelf above where the trays are. It's a simple idea, but it's tricky to introduce ahead of what promises to be a busy Bank Holiday.

On a White Charger

Stand up Simon.
Meet the man who came to his local tea rooms for lunch and ended up clearing tables and washing up. He was fab. Simon comes at least once a week and today during his soup a multitude descended. Table after table filled with people who queued, ordered, ate and left. I rang for reinforcements but before they could arrive Simon put his head round the kitchen door and asked if he could help. I bit his hand off. He brought in trays, wiped tables and did battle with the dishwashers. He wouldn't even take a thank-you coffee. The second hero of the week and it's only Wednesday.

The Spice of Life

Today was fab. A little cooler so easier to manage. Lovely people who laughed and ate scones. Customers of the day were three brothers who brought their 84 year old aunt back to the village where she grew up. They ordered cake. "Victoria sponge, please" said one; "fruit cake" said the next; "carrot," said the third, "what variety?". I panicked. What variety of carrot was in the cake? I had no idea. I couldn't even guess. I didn't know any carrot varieties. Then it dawned on me that what he'd actually said was "What a variety!". They laughed when I told them. Said I should answer "tinned" if anyone really does ask.
Nancie came in this morning with a swollen eye. She asked if I had any "calamine tea". No honestly, I heard her correctly. Henceforth on this blob chamomile will be known as calamine.

Empty Vessels

Late yesterday afternoon we could all smell gas. We don't have a piped supply. We buy it in huge metal containers that remind me of submarine missiles in the movies. So I didn't really know what to do. We abandoned all cooking (which helped with the heat in the kitchen) and a man called Jeremy answered my call for help . We had a loose cooker knob. We'd also almost run out of gas. Jeremy is my new hero.
A woman came to the counter to complain that her tea was too strong, she preferred more stilton in her quiche and she didn't like the coleslaw.
There goes my Michelin star.

Heatwave

Ice cream tubs and cold drinks. Everyone was sweltering. It was hotter than Bermuda according to the radio. And then two women in a parallel universe who a] sat inside and b] ordered soup and hot chocolate. Fifty people had a scone today, most of those with jam and cream and tea. We had a 'phone call from a Kent group of 36 asking if they could come for lunch on Saturday. Now all I need is staff. Lots of the younger ones either have exams or are going away for the Bank Holiday. I'll have to rope in extended family and old friends at this rate.

Fans. (Saturday)

Lots of egg mayonnaise sandwiches. Is that what people eat on really hot days then? Not a single person sat inside. They came in to order, sighed and said "it's very hot in here. How are you managing?" and made a quick exit to a table in the shade. If they could find one. The coffee machine did very little work, but the local juices and pressés flew out of the drinks fridge. We set up a fan in the heart of the kitchen. If this continues we'll need more. A very nice person wrote: "The Best" in the comments column of the visitors' book.
I think we'll be busy again today as it's another hot one. I've just come back from London after a night out and 5 hours sleep. Probably not the best decision I've ever made.

Cool

Hot. Very hot. Churlish to say too hot?
I found myself wishing that the Summer would be a bit more British. Less of this Med stuff. It's really wearing. And it's only Day One of it. The forecast for the weekend is even warmer.
Almost everyone sat outside today, under the umbrellas which we've now set up for as many of the tables as we could. Everyone except a couple with a combined age of 184 years who sat in the conservatory and had ham salads and a cream tea. She's 93, he's 91. They've been married for 65 years. They met and wed during the 2nd World War when they were both in the forces. They look amazing, and I longed to stay talking with them but people came (and most wanted quiche). I really hope they come back on a quieter day.

Open House

Brilliant day. The sun shone, the coach parties were on time and left happy, the cash and carry man didn't come til 2.30. Perfect. The group of 25 primary school children who came this afternoon were involved in a project. They'd walked from the school (almost a mile) and had invited a few individuals who'd lived in the village for a very long time to tell them about their lives, what the area was like when they were growing up, that sort of thing. Each guest sat at a different table with 2 or 3 kids and after a few minutes a bell would ring and the children would move to the next table to hear another tale. They took photos and made notes and recorded some of what was said and they'll put it all together over the coming weeks. They were wonderfully behaved, and really interested in what was said. I know this because one of them was my son and he told me how great it was: "did you know, mum, people here never used to lock their doors because they had nothing in the house valuable enough to steal?".

Tuna Crisis

Thursday looms. Now looking even busier after a couple of 'phone calls today:
0930 Birthday coffee and cake for 12 after their weekly swim.
1030 Coach party, coffee and cake, 30
1200-1300 Kent Coach party, lunch, 48
1330 Lunch, 8.
1330 - 1500 Tea, coffee, squash, cakes 25 children, 10 adults.
The cash and carry delivery is due to arrive in the middle of all this, but not in time to bring some lunch essentials so Becky went off to Worcester for me. As the last bag was unloaded Freda, sorting the lunch prep, said: "Where do we keep the tuna?" There was none. Inconceivable. Becky went back to Worcester, Sara rushed home for her stash of tinned steaks in brine (which she keeps for any tuna-related emergency).
We didn't do one tuna jacket potato, nor a single tuna sandwich.

Lost

How many randomly busy Tuesdays does it take before it becomes expected that Tuesday is busy? This was the second in a row. It was busier than Sunday. Except on Sunday there'd been 6 of us, and today there were 3. One taking orders, one preparing food and one putting it all together and taking it out. So who was doing the washing up? And who was clearing tables and filling the cake display and putting away the deliveries? Erm. Mr Nobody. And at its height - a power cut. For a lifetime which was probably only 15 minutes we had no till, no card machine, no dishwasher, no microwave, no lights, and no soup kettle. Excruciating.
People were utterly lovely. They waited for their delayed food, brought in their trays when they'd finished, and they all smiled.
This morning's Shropshire Art Fund coach party were lovely too. 27 turned up for coffee and a tour of the Court. At 3.30 I received a phone call. Was there a lady looking distressed at the tea rooms? They'd just noticed they were one short on the coach.

Crop of the Morning

By 1205 today all the asparagus soup was gone.
The local grower told me they'd be able to pick today now that the weather's warmed up again, so I'll go early for soup bags tomorrow and make a vat of the stuff. I won't let it beat me. I am determined to make enough to get through til at least 1215.
In the morning we're serving coffee to the Shropshire Art Fund. Just coffee. Thirty cups. With luck thirty smiles.

Before and after

Officially we open at 11 and close at 5. The sign on the top of the chalkboard informs people that we serve lunch from 12 noon - 2.30. We often go beyond those hours (both ways - you'd be surprised how many people are dying for a jacket potato at 11.30). They're sort of guidelines, not rules. I have never yet refused lunch to a latecomer, even when the kitchen has packed away all the various elements which go into the ploughmans. And cleaned. And mopped.
Today was the latest request yet. An egg mayo sandwich on granary bread at 4.40.
And from 4-5 we did more cappuccinos and lattes than we'd done in the morning.
So a sort of back-to-front day.
A yad, if you will.
One man who came in said "I've been coming here for years and you've changed it" (a fairly common occurrence), "I suppose it was health and safety made you do it?". I admit to being a little perplexed. I wondered where it was that "health and safety" forced places to put up pretty floral bunting and match the tablebloths to it. A harsh regime indeed.

Final Cup

The sun shone. A dozen cyclists came in at 1030 and stayed. An unannounced coach brought a load for coffee. And all that rolled into lunch. Apparently.
I didn't arrive until one o'clock when, although there was a queue, all seemed in hand. I'd had the morning off to chat and eat and shop. A real tonic, but it was lovely to come back and get the pinny on. George had done all the opening work for me and left a note in the till saying he'd let a woman off 40p because she didn't have enough money. He's getting very aerated about the outside tables and any bird poo he finds on them. A group of thirteen called The Christian Ramblers ended their 7 mile walk with tea and cake. I've added to the staff for Thursday (Gina and Freda can both help) but am still worrying about climbing that particular mountain.

The Big One

Next Thursday just got trickier. This morning another large group booked in for coffee. So it now looks like this:
10am Drinks for 30, they may also want cake.
12 - 1 Lunch for 48 and no idea yet what they want.
1-3 Afternoon tea for 25 school children and 10 guests.
All I need now is a fruit tea convention at 1130 and a group of ramblers gasping for local apple juice at 3 and I'll have a full house. Literally.
Today everyone wanted to choose their own cake. And they all wanted the biggest piece they could see. Even if, seconds earlier, they'd told their friends they weren't hungry and would only have something to eat because their friend was having something.

Extremes

I am now an expert on coach parties. I have had three through the door and I can safely say, as one now versed in the art of catering for them, they are all different. Today's was lovely, and a lesson in how they all should be. Months ago, when still a radio producer, I was contacted by Mr Mills of the Golden Valley Probus Club, asking if I could suggest lunch for 35-40 people. I made up a menu - just stuff I liked really (so no teacakes, obviously) and kept my fingers firmly crossed. Last week they confirmed numbers (49) and food orders, and yesterday reconfirmed with some minor changes. It went like a dream. The right food to the right people at the right time by the right number of staff. Lunch AND afternoon tea.
This morning George's godfather rang to say that he's on a coach trip next week from Kent and is looking forward to seeing the tea rooms, as the itinerary says they're lunching with us on Thursday. A coach trip of 48 people about which I know nothing.
Think I'll need more than crossed fingers.

Ciao

Bright but cold today and everyone wanted warmth. It was a hot chocolate and soup and teacakes day (I'm testing out buttering before delivery to table. So far so good.)
An elderly Italian brother and sister ordered 2 cappuccinos (I assume all Italians are coffee connoisseurs so was pretty daunted) and a man asked me gruffly why I hadn't told him that he was supposed to come to the counter to order.
Tomorrow a Herefordshire Probus group (49 strong) is coming for a lunch they've pre-ordered. 32 ham-salads-new- potatoes-and-asparagus , 10 lasagne, 7 cheddar ploughmans. We have enough plates. Just. But if anyone else turns up they'll have to have their sandwiches on a saucer. Or in a bowl.
Freda told me that she hasn't had a chance to look at my "blob" yet.

Rush hour

Today Nancie opened up for me so that I could take the kids to the dentist, the first time I hadn't been there at the start of the day. At lunchtime a very calm-voiced Nancie rang to ask if I could help out because they were "a little busy".
I was greeted by scenes of post lunch carnage. Every table in the conservatory had a pile of dirty plates and cups on top and the remnants of kids' cheese sandwiches beneath. Baked bean-smeared high chairs were dotted around. It felt like the aftermath of a toddler food fight. And there was still a queue. We cleared and wiped and washed up. I delivered cappuccinos (frothy. still got it.) to a couple outside: "Are you the reinforcements?" they asked, "I don't know why they don't get more staff here". I felt obliged to inform them that I was to blame. Unless we can blame the customers for turning up on a random Tuesday, out of nowhere, in large numbers and all at the same time?
Yes, let's do that.

Mundane

It's a conspiracy. The first order? Two teacakes and three hot chocolates.
Today I had a list:
-Send menus to Mrs Reeves (Oct 8th)and Mrs Webster (Sept 23rd).
-Return Essex man's prescription sunglasses which he left on the counter last week (he rang having noticed the loss when the sun next came out).
-Find cash and carry receipt (found. crumpled but readable).
-Empty handbag of accumulated rubbish.
-Send invoices for last week's concert afternoon teas.
-Create next rota (which includes ANOTHER Bank Holiday).
It doesn't sound like a lot (it looks pitiful now it's written down) but between throwing a frisbee for puppy and ordering new till rolls, it filled my day.

Puzzling

One of those days. Kate called in sick. I burnt the last two teacakes (karma?). One man's soup wasn't warm enough. We sent asparagus soup instead of asparagus spears to a table. The lady there ate both. There's a leak from the water boiler again, one of the cupboard doors is falling off and the loo seat in the gents is loose.
On the up side there were lovely comments in the visitors' book and I finally managed to crack getting a decent cappuccino froth. It's only taken me 6 weeks.
The monkey puzzle tree in the garden became topic of the day when a tree expert announced that it's about to bear fruit ("have babies" he said). Apparently this is quite a rare occurrence, and I have to admit to a strange excitement. Mr Arborealist has gone away to find out exactly what to expect and what we should do when the coconut-sized seed pods drop. Get out of the way presumably.

Taste

Teacakes started the day, and teacakes ended it. Three people in a row at 1045. Three in a row at 1620. I don' t "get" teacakes. They're one of the things we sell which I would never choose. I think it's pretty big of me to stock them, actually (that's the Saturday night vino talking). Egg sandwiches. There's another thing I can't abide. Cheese scones - what's to like? I should say that there are many things on the menu which I love, and would happily live on. Cake being one example.
Today I overheard the following: "his mum killed someone because he was being cruel to a horse". There's the start of a novel I wouldn't read.

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.