A busy Friday when I was called away from a fundraising curry lunch to deal with a plethora of panini orders.
A good Saturday. Those cyclists again (drug free) who arrived en masse for teacakes and tea.
A lovely Sunday.
It started crisp and cold with a dog called Jet and the two people who brought her and who could see their own breath inside the conservatory. They needed hot chocolate.
Customers of the day were the pair who hadn't seen the Court since he drew up the archeological plans in 1981. They had Afternoon Tea. The scones come with jam and cream and they choose their cake. Soon after we'd delivered the cake stand she was back at the counter: "I know it's infra dig," she said, "but may I have some butter with my scone?"
I have looked up "infra dig" not being entirely sure of its meaning.
It means something which is below what is thought of as socially acceptable. Or undignified.
One might say my recent appearance on The Food Hospital holding a pot of urine and standing next to a man dressed as an asparagus spear is the very essence of infra dig.
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