A woman's prerogative?

Pork pie ploughmans day.
We make it on the premises every now and then and serve it as a special.
Today it proved as popular as ever.
One order was for three of them.
Two women had placed the order but when they returned to the man in the garden he became agitated. He didn't want a pork pie ploughmans. He didn't know what he wanted. He couldn't decide. He didn't know what there was. He didn't get the menu. I went out and told him exactly what was available. His wife raised her eyebrows and shook her head.
In the end he decided on a bacon, Brie and cranberry panini and thanked me for my attention.
He cleared his plate.
His wife and their friend raved about the pork pie.
Then he told me he had a nice half bottle of red at home which would go nicely with a slice of pork pie....could he buy some to take home?

Taking stock.

Er. Like wow.
That was a pretty busy day. And such a hot one.
My feet are crying.
We ran out of panini and ham and our home made pork pie. We came close to running out of tomatoes and cheese. As soon as the quiche was delivered I ordered more.
For the second day running I have taken a barrel load of glass bottles for recycling and a small forest of cardboard boxes. The recycling skips at the village hall now need emptying.
Tomorrow, not only is the weather forecast even better but we have a coach party of 39 booked in for lunch.
Eek.

Prioriteas

Message in the visitors' book:
"Cream teas and tea rooms are my life. Thank you."

Beams

SUNSHINE.
A marvellously sunny weekend.
I have changed the Wimbledon cake recipe slightly and transformed it into Witley Sunshine Cake. It has locally produced strawberries, raspberries and cream in it, plus orange zest and passion fruit which aren't local but which I bought from a local supermarket. I am aware that this doesn't count.
Only trouble is one isn't enough and it had gone by lunchtime.
Folks were in the mood for cake and panini today.
I'm in the mood for soaking my feet.

Two legs and a tray - bad.

This morning a couple were waiting at the counter as I took a tray of coffee into the garden. A black and white dog - collie-ish - was tethered to a vacant table outside and the dog sat quietly waiting for the couple to return.
When I took their order they told me that their dog didn't like waitresses or waiters. They didn't know why. She always barked at them.
I was sure I would be different. I like dogs. I have a dog. Dogs like me.
But not this one.
As soon as I went out carrying their tray she went bonkers. A high pitched painful sort of a barking. Continuous until I walked away leaving their lunch on the table.
This afternoon they came back for tea. I didn't deliver the tray this time. Sue did. I just listened for the barking to start....and it did.

All things must pass

I have spent today outside.
Getting sunburnt down the left side of my neck.
Yes I was in England.
I cooked asparagus in a Worcestershire asparagus field for a tv programme called The Food Hospital which'll be shown on Channel 4 sometime in September.
I also peed in a sample pot.
Twice.
Before eating the asparagus and afterwards.
And held up said pot for the cameras to see.
Strange way to pass a few hours.
I expect I shall never have a day like it.

On the more normal side of things we made sandwiches and cake for the forty volunteers and tv crew. And I came home laden with what must be the last of the British asparagus for this year.

He who should not be named....

Last month my son went on a school trip to China (we used to go the Cotswold Wildlife Park) and found out that the Chinese students choose an English name for themselves. Presumably to make life easier for us.
This name can be anything they like.
And they can be very creative.
The boy my son partnered is called Bobby. Others, though, are called Snort, Sheep, Banana and there's a boy who came last year called Lucy.
While they were being hosted at the school in China the group held a lesson in English - a few of the English guys taught a few Chinese students our National Anthem and then played a game with them.
One boy stepped forward to take part.
"What's your name?" they asked him.
He gave his true name and then said: "but my English name is Voldemort."

Crumbs

A big weekend. On Saturday I met a bride and groom who'd like a wedding party in the garden next September. Then we hosted High Tea for the Academy Chamber Orchestra - 40 young musicians who were performing in the Church that evening. Then 3-course concert suppers for concert goers.
Yesterday I took the day off to show our Chinese exchange student around.
It was a glorious day and a very busy one. One of those days that no matter how much cake you think you'll need you always end up with a display cabinet that looks sad. I came home to two pieces of pecan & chocolate brownie, three pieces of fruit cake and a few slices of chocolate cake.
I'm certainly not complaining (but leave me one piece of coffee and walnut next time please). These days have been fewer and further between than last year.

Whole in one.

We were wonderfully busy at lunchtime. We had a group of 14 and another of 7 booked in and then a whole set of people on a tour of the Court came in for lunch.
All this despite the rain.
We finished a Wimbledon cake during lunch so when it quietened down this afternoon I filled another with cream and strawberries and passion fruit for the cake display.
In came a young, dishy Australian farmer.
He pointed to the cake.
"Can I buy that whole thing?"
Erm yes if he wanted to...
"Do you have a box?"
Oh. He was serious.

I found a box.

Comedy Duo

I met the most wonderful couple from South Wales today.
When she claimed to be eighty he chastised her: "Get away," he said, "I'm eighty. You've got another 3 weeks to go yet."
"It's our diamond wedding later this year." she said.
I congratulated her but she told me not to be hasty, "I might dump him before we get there. He's a Midlander and I only married him cos no Welshman asked me."

All this was while we walked up to the Church. She, Mary Minty, is a historian. The Church wasn't on their agenda, just the Court. So when they had lunch with us I bullied them into going up there. She walked slowly on two sticks: "you'll never guess how I came to be on sticks," she said, "I did my back in in the gym." I asked if anything could be done? "Well," she said, "they've offered me an operation. But that would leave me doubly incontinent. And I want to keep that to look forward to for when I'm older."

We reached the Church and I opened the door.
Their mouths gaped. Properly.
Then she smiled.
Exactly like a child at Christmas.
And she hugged me.

Camp damp

It's somehow reassuring that there are so many groups of enthusiasts in this country. We have lots of U3A parties (university of the 3rd age) who are either archeology folks, or garden peeps or architecture bods.
Last year we had a huge group of touring caravaners.
We have mystery tours run by coach companies - last week two men arrived a little late but ahead of the main group: "We're on a mystery tour," they said, "so it took us a while to realise the driver was lost".
Today through the sound of the rain came the revving of engines.
Twenty vintage motorcycle enthusiasts from all over the country arrived for lunch and for a talk in the Church. They were drenched. One middle aged woman announced she was soaked through to her knickers. A man begged us not to take the napkin from the table we were clearing as it was the only dry thing he had.
They hung up their helmets and coats and gloves in the conservatory in the hope that they might dry. All they did was steam up the windows.
They left in their heavy wet clothes to ride back to their campsite.
Yes. Camping. From wet leathers to wet canvas.

Smashing

Comment from the visitors' book: Wimbledon cake was ace.

Like it.