Holiday fun

The last few weeks of any season are filled with conversations with regulars who come to bid us a happy and relaxing winter.
Almost all of them ask if I am going away on holiday.
The answer, sadly, is always no.
I tell them that I do have lots of lovely things planned with friends and a pile of books I’m itching to get through.
The first day of the closed season and I am already living the high life.
The septic tank and grease trap have been emptied.

Not tied to the apron strings

Our last day of the season dawns.
It’s going to be sunny but, I fear, not sunny enough to sell all the leftover ice cream. We have a larger freezer this year and it carries a lot of stock.
We have a full staff so we’ll be putting things into hibernation for the winter as we finish using them.
Tony has returned from university to work for the weekend.
He’s very wise.
He knows that he’ll be going back to university with leftovers which would keep a normal person going for a few days. It might last Tony until Tuesday if he doesn’t eat it all on the way back.
I am looking forward to a few months free of washing and ironing aprons.

Lemon

Yesterday I served a dad with a few children in tow. He ordered hot drinks and took some cold ones out to their table outside.
Seconds later a woman came in carrying one of the cold cans. She headed towards the drinks fridge.
“Do you mind if I change this?” she asked, sighing, “After twenty years of marriage my husband still doesn’t know that I don’t drink lemonade.”

I am the walrus

Yesterday morning we took a call.
“What time are you open?” a gentleman asked, “and are you still selling your egg mayonnaise sandwiches?”
We told him times and that yes the sandwich remains on the menu.
We were slightly taken aback that an egg sandwich could create such fervour.
He said he would see us later.

Towards the end of lunchtime a man ordered a few lunch items including an egg mayonnaise sandwich.
“Are you the gentleman who called earlier?” I ventured.
He looked quizzical. It definitely wasn’t him. He was not the egg man.

Great Expectations

Today Ollie (18) was teaching Mary (70ish) a few words to add to her vocabulary.
When she went home she was going to tell her husband that she had made bare scones this morning and was bare tired.
Rosie did her first day with us. We had £5 each in tips. We told her that this is far from normal and that often we share less than £5 between us. We certainly don’t want to raise her hopes.
The bulk of the money had come from a lovely group of friends who had booked High Tea for thirteen people, two of whom were diabetic. This was a first for us and a challenge.
Naomi made a low sugar chocolate cake and among Mary’s bare scones were a few sugar-free ones. We also made a sort of jam from apple, pear, strawberries and raspberries (no sugar at all) to serve with the scones.
We were all pleased with the results.
So, thankfully, were the thirteen.

Food for Thought.

Two panini conversations took place yesterday.
The first was with a man who had brought an international group on a history/heritage tour.
“Your panini,” he began, “what are they like because I don’t really get on with them. I’ve had a few on my travels and they’re always hard and crispy. Are yours? Or are they unctuous?”
I should have suggested that if he hadn’t got on with them in the past then perhaps panini weren’t his thing but he decided he would order one with a filling of our home-cooked ham and cheddar.
I went through to the conservatory where the group was finishing lunch.
I asked what he thought?
His face told the whole story.
“Perhaps,” I ventured, “it’s time to give up on panini. It’s an affair that’s never going to work. Leave it and move on.”
He looked saddened.
A cream tea put the smile back on his face.

Then, a short while later:

“Can I be awkward?” she asked.
It was a fairly quiet, rainy Sunday, so I wasn’t phased.
“Instead of bacon, brie and cranberry on my panini please may I have bacon, brie and pesto?”
I told her she wasn’t at all awkward and we’d give it a go. I also told her that if she thought it was a winner then it may just end up on our menu...
She returned to the counter to tell me that it was delicious and should really be a regular.

Pause o Men

Act One
Scene One
The Tearooms main room at the counter. An Australian man and his British wife have just placed their order of coffee and cake with a fifty-something woman called Gill. It is a warm, sunny day and fairly hot inside.

Australian man: Cor, it’s very hot in here? Don’t you think it’s hot?
Gill: Try being a woman of a certain age.
British wife: (smiling and nodding knowingly)  I feel your pain.
Australian man: Try being married to a woman of a certain age.

Guessing Game

It’s been a mixed week and very hard to judge.

Should we cook another ham? How many jacket potatoes will be ordered? How many staff will we need? How many scones should we bake?

All impossible questions to answer with any certainty. 

Monday was relatively steady and posed no problems. 

Tuesday a little busier but easily managed.

On Wednesday, when I was away taking my younger son to start university, everyone else in the world decided to have lunch at the tearooms.

Yesterday we were prepared for busy. 

Then the phone rang. 

It was one of the staff at Witley Court telling us that a coach of thirty people had turned up. There’d be a quick tour of the Court and then they’d be coming to us.

We went into overdrive on preparation. 

A few lunch orders came in, a few coffee orders.

A few take-away orders.

One lady mentioned that she didn’t have time for lunch as they had to get back...

The coach party didn’t really materialise, just a handful of them made their way to us.

Fortunately we were pleasantly busy with non-coach visitors so our adrenaline wasn’t wasted.

That’ll teach us.

An odd day.
Due to a one-day staff shortage I was in the kitchen preparing lunches.
The weather was so wet and miserable that only a few hardy souls ventured out and I only had to tackle four lunch orders.
We had begun all the clearing away for the day when a lady came in, ordered cakes and a couple of hot drinks and told us that we were about to be inundated. She was part of a group of thirty trainee teachers who were on a team-building day and they were all heading our way.
She was absolutely right.
We went from having two people sitting quietly in the main tearoom to a room full of cake and scone eaters.
I gave them all A*.

Lucky in Love

This weekend we hosted a special tea for Gill and Brian and their family.
Gill and Brian were celebrating 63 years of marriage.
As they were preparing to leave after sandwiches and tea and cakes and scones, Gill told me that she met Brian at school when she was 14. She was 19 when she married him in 1956.
Their daughter showed me their wedding photo:

Any answers

This year has been the year of the telephone survey.
We must be on a list.
I’ve taken part in three long, involved surveys carried out on behalf of three different government departments.
I honestly don’t know what they’ll learn from asking questions about an independent tearoom but I accept that it’s a duty I should perform.
The last one was from the Education department. It was about training and apprenticeships and staff numbers.
There was also the now inevitable question about whether we export anything to Europe or indeed beyond. Nope.
I have answered this question so many times over the past three years that I’m beginning to wonder if we should set up an EU wide cream tea delivery service.
We could call it “Scone with the Wind”. Or maybe not.

The most interesting survey was on behalf of the Ministry of Defence who wanted to know what anti terrorism measures I have taken or am planning to take.

Special Weapons and Tactics

The wasps are in decline. Thank goodness.
Nine wasp traps and thirty swatters to loan out to customers have done their job.
The swatters brought a smile to many faces. Not one customer suggested we shouldn’t be killing insects.
One lady told me that her friend is a Buddhist.
“So she doesn’t like to kill wasps?” I suggested.
“On the contrary,” she said, “she believes wasps come to her house to be helped on to their next life.”

Sign of the times

We are in wasp season.
We haven’t had a bad wasp problem for three years but over the past two weeks three years’ worth have come visiting lured by the jam from the cream teas.
We have citronella candles and incense sticks, we have a wasp bane hanging at one end of the building and we have a selection of swatters which we’re loaning out to anyone who really, really, really wants to sit outdoors.
Early this week a lady came to counter to ask, not for a swatter but for a copy of the sign we have about wasps. She wanted to send it to friends in Australia as an example of something “which is just so British”. She took a photo of it on her smartphone. I wonder what her friends will make of this:

Melting

It was outrageously hot yesterday.
Everyone walked a little slower, sat down for a little longer, perspired a little more.
My brain stopped working properly.
The temperature reached 36 in the kitchen according to the meat thermometer.
We are so fortunate to have a large area with tree cover which is much, much cooler and yesterday almost every table was there.
Today it’s significantly cooler though by any British summer measurement it’s still a hot one.
I have ordered a device for the kitchen - an air cooler - which uses ice water to circulate cold air.
Sweaty fingers are crossed.

If you can’t stand the heat...

7.30am and it’s really, really hot already.
Forecasters are suggesting this could turn out to be the hottest day on record in this country.
Jacket potatoes definitely OFF the menu today but we do have to cook a ham which will add to the intense heat in the kitchen.
Ten flavours of Bennetts ice cream are in stock but have I ordered enough?

Flora

The agapanthus are in bloom and are, as usual, a sight to behold. 

We have about sixteen either fully out or about to burst. 

They all came from a single, original plant which belonged to Janet’s brother. Janet and Peter look after our large garden very well and are slowly teaching me the names of a few plants.

On Monday Peter asked me what I thought the plural of agapanthus might be? We had a discussion about various Latin endings. I threw in things like “dative” and “nominative plural” which made me feel oddly grown up given that the last time I used them I definitely wasn’t.

After our conversation I went back inside and googled it.

Disappointingly it turns out that the plural is either agapanthus or agapanthuses. 

Still, nothing disappointing about this:

Warning

This afternoon I have been at a workshop to endeavour to learn how to improve our social media.

Watch this space.

Still nervous. 

Twist the butter knife

A young couple is (sort of) arguing at the counter.
She says she doesn’t believe him.
He says it’s absolutely true.
He has NEVER had an Afternoon Tea. Ever. Nor a Cream Tea. Ever. The only scone he’s ever had was from a supermarket. He certainly didn’t eat it with jam and cream.
I have to join in.
“How can that be?” I ask.
His answer surprises me, “I’m from Dudley,” he says.
I challenge his logic, “So am I” I say, quickly, “what difference does that make?”
I am floored by his response:
“Yes but we’re a different generation”.
I limp off in pain.

Undiluted joy

On Friday morning when we opened up there was a surprise.
No water.
Which is pretty important.
We couldn’t do a whole lot until the problem had been sorted so I tried very hard not to panic.
I rang the Court to find out if they had similar issues but they had working taps.
I set off down the drive to a house which borders our garden.
There were lots of workmen there digging and building and, it turns out, turning off our water as they tried to work out which supply was theirs.
Panic over.

Any given Friday

Two rain-free days and the prospect of a seriously hot and sunny weekend.
This could be it.
The summer.
All day today artists have been delivering their work to the church where there’s an exhibition until Monday.
All day today we’ve been organising cream teas and afternoon teas and high teas.
It is most definitely the scone season.
Two ladies came in from the garden to order more drinks and pointed out that we had some unusual visitors.
They gestured outside.
Two cockatoos. Each one on the shoulder of an ice cream eater.
Sophie (cockatoo) is 19.

Misha is only 4.

They both like ice cream.

This little lady arrived late yesterday afternoon.
We’d had another day of rain.
Such a cliché.

Good move.

New for the season, and not of my making, is the chess game.

A regular customer drops in, sets up her board, orders lunch/coffee and is joined by someone else to play.
Her opponents, so far, have all been men.
She sits in the main room or outside.
It’s a good thing and makes me unaccountably happy.

Battier (or more bats)

We had a call from Katie, the volunteer who’d collected our young bat (see Tuesday’s post).
Apparently he’s eating, growing and doing well and should be returned to the Court in a few weeks when he’s strong enough.
Actually we still don’t know if he’s a he or a she.

Found souls

A year ago a group of people met up and set off from the tearooms on a ramble.
Dave, whose partner had died 14 months earlier, was trying it out on the advice of his sister.
He almost bailed when he first arrived.
But he didn’t and during the journey he fell into easy conversation with Heather.
They walked and talked and got along very well. Dave began to feel very guilty. He shouldn’t feel like he wanted to get to know someone else. But he did. As for Heather, she hadn’t been in a relationship for twenty plus years (she looks to be in her early forties now).
They arrived back at the tearooms and individuals in the group began to order coffee.
As Heather dug into her bag for her money Dave handed over payment for both his and hers.
She said something like, “I’ll buy the next one,” which he took as a good sign.
He didn’t ask for her number though.
He was still feeling that guilt.
By the next ramble Dave was looking forward to seeing Heather again. She didn’t show up. And she wasn’t at the next, nor the next, nor the next.
What Dave hadn’t known was that everyone on that first ramble was new to it, so no one knew Heather or anything much about her, only what they’d gleaned from talking to her that day.
Dave was about to give up rambling.
At the start of the fifth outing there was still no Heather. They all set off and had gone quite a way when a woman Dave had been talking to pointed to a parked car and said she thought it might be Heather’s. As Heather arrived at Dave’s side the other woman stepped back and left them to walk together.
They have been inseparable ever since.
Yesterday was the first anniversary of their first meeting. They ordered coffee and sat in the garden. Heather paid. “It’s my turn,” she laughed.

They look so happy.

Rain respite

“Coffee please,” he said,
“What sort of coffee would you like?” I asked
He paused, looked quizzically at me and asked, “Do you have a brown one?”

Bats

Rain and more rain.

I sat at a table doing the rotas while Sue, Louise, Lauren and Charlotte tidied, cleaned, wiped, cleared, threw away and generally made everything better.

We had a few wet people in for coffee and even fewer for lunch.

Then a man, later discovered to be Paul, came in to say his friend, later named as Laura, had found a sick bat in the Court and could we help?

Erm.

Having spoken to Anne at the Court who gave us advice (scrunch up paper, put bat in a box with scrunched up paper, give it a jar lid of water) I rang the Bat Conservation Trust. They asked LOTS of questions and then gave me telephone numbers of two local volunteers who would come and help IF available. 

And if they weren’t available? 

They suggested the bat was taken to a vet.

I rang the first number with my fingers firmly crossed. 

My luck was IN.

Simon answered and said they were almost passing our door and would drop in within 20 minutes.

He examined the bat, announced that it was a Daubenton’s juvenile who hadn’t yet opened his eyes. He would need milk (formula or goat’s - who knew?) and would need to be returned close to where he was found so that he could call to his mum. 

They took him away. Simon had him in his closed hand to give him warmth.

They rang the Court with an update late afternoon. They had driven Belfry (Paul and Laura had named him) to Much Wenlock, thirty miles away, where he’ll be looked after until strong enough to come home.

Right turn

Today Charlotte told me that while she was serving last week a man pointed to this sign and just said, “Jeremy Corbyn”.

Go Away

Rain is making working life tricky.
Yesterday, as we were starting to clear up after a morning party (45 people, sandwiches, tea, scones, cake) celebrating Christine’s Licensing Service in the church, the heavens opened.
It took lots of people by surprise, including us. The forecast had predicted rain in the late afternoon not at midday.
This meant that we were completely full in minutes.
A group of cyclists huddled round a small table, two Spanish families squeezed around a table for four.
There were people everywhere.
Until the rain stopped.
The sun emerged and the few who risked the weather in the afternoon sat outside.
Then at 4pm there was another storm. A proper deluge.
The conservatory flooded (fortunately no one was in there) and we were loaning our umbrellas to those who couldn’t wait for the rain to pass.
This week the forecast is dodgy. Lots of rain. All week.
How am I going to dry all the aprons and tea towels?

I won’t be asking THAT again

Today we had a surprise 70th birthday lunch.
It’s been in the diary for ages, arranged by two sons for their lovely mum. They’d told her she was coming for lunch but not that her two sisters and some of her friends were going to be there. They’d brought balloons and a banner and glasses for a toast of something fizzy and a beautifully decorated birthday cake.
They set up a camera to capture the look on her face when she walked in.
As they all left, a couple of hours later, I congratulated her. I told her it was wonderful that she has raised sons who treat their mum with so much thoughtfulness.

I almost got through the whole day without a gaff.
Almost.
Two ladies (in their 60s?) came in late this afternoon. They were very alike.
“Sisters?” I asked, “or twins?”
“Sisters,” one of them replied quickly, “there’s a big age gap”.

Added info

My lovely email correspondent from yesterday (see Wednesday’s post) wrote again today just to let me know that, after all that, the Tearooms in Lincoln doesn’t open on Sundays...

Grains of truth

Unexpected coach day.
Well, ok, unexpected minibus day.
We think it was a church outing.
I took a sandwich and a pot of tea to a smiley man in a dog collar.
Did he take sugar?
He did.
I asked if that was his only vice.
He paused.
And then said, “no”.
Unfortunately we were too busy for me to pursue the interrogation.

Geographically challenged.

I received an email this morning from a lady asking if are open on Sunday and did we take bookings as she wanted to bring her mum to celebrate her 80th birthday. She told me she lives in Nottingham but would be visiting this coming weekend.
I replied suggesting high tea for two which we could arrange and set up in advance so that she wouldn’t have to queue to order. All would be ready on arrival.
She loved the idea and emailed to ask if we could do anything vegan.
Yes, I replied (excited to have the chance to relive the strawberry and peanut butter success).
Another email asking if I’d like her to transfer the money in advance.
No need, I replied.
Then, at 1445 a final email:

Gill,

I am so sorry, I’m not quite sure how to say this but ive emailed the wrong Garden Tea rooms I thought you were in Lincoln, I am so sorry

Feeling very silly

B

I so wish she’d come anyway. I really want to meet her. 

aide-memoir

June already and not enough posts.
The problem is that although many little things happen which would make a good story I have a tendency to forget them once I’m back home.
I need a notepad to jot down things as they happen.
We had a Christening party on Sunday for forty guests, our second for the same family in which are a number of vegetarians and two vegans. They had ordered sandwiches, mini tartlets, honey-mustard sausages, cakes and scones and lots of tea.
We always have vegan cakes so that wasn’t difficult but I wanted the vegan sandwich fillings to be interesting so I went on a google hunt and came up with peanut butter and fresh strawberry. On the morning itself my resolve failed but my team insisted we make them anyway, saying that even if they didn’t taste good they’d look amazing among the other, more usual offerings of houmous, cucumber etc.
After half an hour I went into the party and all the vegan sandwiches had gone. I approached the mum, Holly, and asked if she’d like us to make another round? She was surprised, “we actually only have one vegan here” she said and went over to talk to an older man to ask if he’d like more?
What he asked for was more of the peanut butter and strawberry.
Don’t think it’ll make the every day menu yet but the Witley strawberry season has just started so watch this space.

Pass

“You know the woman who used to run this place?” the customer asked when I took out her order.
I was considering how best to answer as there have been so many women who’ve managed the tearooms over the years since 1983, but then she went on...
“Did she have a friend who was Welsh?”

Unexpected coach party...

...in many ways.
Not least because it came from 1936:

I asked the driver if he owns the magnificent, green lady.
He does.
Does he rent it out? No, he said, he just takes friends and family on the occasional trip.
Could I be his friend?

Accessory.

“A skinny latte please,” she said, “and a hot chocolate.
Actually, make the hot chocolate skinny too. He’ll never know.”

Caffeine hit.

Yesterday I started to fulfil an order that had been taken at the counter.

Among the items “flat white with an extra shot”.

So that’s three shots of coffee. 

I queried it with Liv who’d taken the order. 

She confirmed that the chap wanted three shots.

I took the tray out myself. 

I had to see the man who wanted a three shot coffee. 

He was Australian. On holiday in the UK with his family.

“The coffee isn’t strong enough in this country,” he said, “I haven’t had a good one since we’ve been here.”

I told him that if it wasn’t strong enough I could always add a fourth shot of espresso...

After a while I looked over. 

He raised his thumb and then told me it was the best he’d had since he’d arrived.

Faint praise perhaps but I took it and did a little victory dance.

Riley Rally

Yesterday we opened early to serve bacon rolls and coffee to a group of Riley car enthusiasts who used the tearooms as a starting point for their treasure hunt.

Although I would suggest they’ve already found the treasure:

A bit of fluff

A new plague is upon us. One we’ve never faced before. 

The poplar seed.

Who knows why (tree enthusiasts may) but the garden is covered in fluffy, catkin-like seeds. The air is full of the flying fluff from them. It’s getting everywhere. 

We clean the tables and a few minutes later they’re covered again. 

They’ve even had the audacity to land in cups of tea and bowls of asparagus soup (yes, that time of year again).

This afternoon the man who usually mows the tearooms lawn sent his lovely dad to do the job. As he came closer to the tables under the trees he caused a snowstorm of fluff which sent customers running. When I went out to ask him to postpone his mow he looked crestfallen,

“My son said you might make me a cup of tea if I did this. I guess I’ve scuppered that now.”

Quite a blow.

The wind was the issue of the day.
We couldn’t keep the gate open, it acted like a sail and broke from any usual moorings to slam shut. I called home and George brought solutions.
It broke the gate to the Court stables which had to be boarded up.
It blew over much of the garden furniture, even some of the bigger wooden benches.
Louise arrived for work at 1030, “it’s chair-mageddon out there,” she said.
We haven’t been busy but we did have a 70th birthday lunch to host. The birthday girl (actual birthday on Tuesday) thought she was attending her son in law’s celebration (actual birthday today).
There was a battle to pay the bill but Dad had made it clear to me from the start that he would be paying. When I gave him the total he told me he was very surprised, that he thought it would be much more.
This might have something to do with the fact that I’ve since realised I forgot to charge them for the birthday cake.
I wish I were better at this.

To be blunt

Our knives are sharp. 

The promised mutiny in the kitchen has been avoided.

A man (early thirties?) with a rolling box of tricks came to spend a couple of hours sharpening all our kitchen and serving knives which were in a pretty poor state. He arrived later than planned (also in a bit of a state) so lunchtime service had to go on around him. 

He apologised for his late arrival saying that he lives on a houseboat and had fallen in the canal that morning.

We liked him a lot. He was seriously into how the whole knife-sharpening thing works, used words I’d never heard and didn’t understand; told us which were our best knives and how to take care of them; told us that some people spend hundreds on a knife and then ruin it in the dishwasher. 

He told us that he used to work in a New Age shop and he learnt his new trade when his hairdressing partner couldn’t find anyone cheap enough or quick enough to sharpen the salon scissors. “I’m pretty much unemployable, as you can see,” he said, pointing to his clothing, “so it suits me to work like this”.

He told us that he doesn’t call her his girlfriend (“makes me sound like a teenager”) and when he refers to his “partner” people assume he’s gay. “I should marry her,” he said, “that would make things easier because then I can call her my wife.”

We suggested he didn’t tell her that when he was down on one knee.

Our pleasure

I have sore feet and anxiety about how busy we’re going to be tomorrow.
Naomi is bringing the last of the Simnel cakes for the year and whilst I have things made of chocolate I don’t have any actual chocolate cake.
This is a stupid, unforgivable oversight and I shall berate myself until I find something else to worry about.
This though, written on a napkin and left on a table, made me smile:

The cold, hard truth

The water boiler is on the blink. Not ideal for a bank holiday weekend but we’re using the ancient faithful one as a back-up and she seems to be holding up.
This week I looked at the forecast of a sunny Easter weekend and, using all the nine years experience I now have about how much ice cream we sell during school holidays, especially warm, sunny ones I  was organised enough to order 18 boxes of Bennetts (local and fabulous) small tubs.
That’s probably the most I’ve ever ordered.
It arrived on Tuesday.
On Tuesday afternoon I thought I’d better order a few more boxes just to be on the safe side.
They arrived on Thursday.
Today I have panic ordered another TWENTY ONE BOXES.
My years of so-called experience have counted for nothing.

Welcome to Easter

Today Naomi delivered the first of our Simnel cakes. 

We love them. 

Customers love them. 

They look like this. 

Fault line

Card machine was out of action again until 2.30 yesterday afternoon.
Liam said it was the most frustrating job he’s ever worked on.
He won’t forget us in a hurry as he was working on it for three days.
I am amazed that so many people still carry cheque books.
Thank goodness.

Countdown Conundrum

Originally the date we were leaving the EU was the end of March so for weeks the daily news gave me a rather helpful countdown to the start of our season.
As a result I was more organised than I’ve ever been.
Now the EU has given us a new deadline.
The last week of October.
Which is when we close for Winter.
On my way home yesterday a commentator said “we have twenty eight weeks until the end of October”.
Twenty eight weeks of the season left.
Will our cake ballot box have to come out of storage in that time?

All sorts.

We remained without a card machine for much of the day (cue scrabbling around for change and hidden notes in the bottom of bags and pockets) but outreach engineer Liam thinks he may have found the problem and we took two whole card payments before we closed.
A warmer, sunnier day during which a customer told me how she likes to dress up her two dogs in fairy outfits.

Line of Duty

The phone hasn’t worked for two days.
Calls are being diverted to my mobile but the bigger issue is that the card machine (which uses the phone line) hasn’t worked for two days.
This can be a real problem since most of us don’t carry much cash any more.
Today two customers came up with their own solution. They transferred money straight to our account from their phones.
Isn’t technology rubbish/wonderful?

Bob’s your uncle

Saturday.
The sun was shining and we expected to be busy but we were surprised by a group of lycra clad cyclists who arrived before we’d even opened.
I couldn’t turn them away.
Cyclists are cake eaters.
A couple arrived soon after, “We followed the cyclists,” they said, “they always know the best places for refreshments.”
Then another couple.
We still hadn’t officially opened.
Then a man and his dog came in.
“I’m in shock,” was his opening statement, “I’ve just found my own name on a headstone in the churchyard. Robert Ward. It says he died in the mid 19th century.”
I told him the Wards were the Earls of Dudley, and this could be his ancestral home. He looked sceptical.
“I think we’d have been the poor relations,” he said.

I went in early this morning to set up because my Australian friend, Kendall, whom I haven’t seen since we were teenagers, was coming to visit. I wanted to be able to have as long as possible to catch up with her before the lunchtime rush. Lauren said she’d hold the fort behind the counter and would come and get me if she needed to.
Kendall, her friend Siobhan and I sat in the conservatory drinking coffee and talking about odd names for children.
Lauren came to my table at about 11o’clock.
Bearing news.
The environmental health officer had arrived to do an inspection.
(Deep. Breath.)
I answered his questions, showed him what he asked to see, wondered what he was thinking, worried I’d missed something.
He went to sit down to complete his report.
Then he called me over.
We went through his comments.
Then he said it was lucky for me that it was after midday.
I didn’t understand and my heart was beating so loudly I could barely hear him anyway.
He said that if it had been before midday he would have told me I had a zero rating.
I still didn’t understand.
“And then I would have said, ‘April Fool’,” he said.
He gave us the top rating but my nerves were shredded.
Next year I may decide not to open on 1st April.

And we’re off...

Here it is.
Day one of full opening for 2019.
Sunny and bright.
Just what we ordered.
Over the last three days we’ve washed everything, swept everywhere, wiped everything, mopped everywhere. We’ve also served a healthy number of customers who’ve taken advantage of the late March sunshine.
The best thing to happen yesterday was the upgrade of the old, slow dishwasher. A different cable and a few tweaks inside and it’s gone from 13amp to 30amp and, more importantly from a 9-minute cycle to a 3-minute cycle. This makes me ridiculously happy.
Lee, the electrician, also hardwired in the second, new dishwasher.
The old, dead, scrap one was still in the kitchen when Dave arrived with a drinks and crisps delivery.
“What’s happening with that old dishwasher?” Lee asked me.
I told him I had to move it outside to go to the tip.
“Need any help?” asked Lee, and he nodded towards Dave’s sack trolley thing, a bit like this one:

Lee manhandled the dishwasher onto Dave’s trolley and Dave pushed it outside, up the path and round the back to the broken chair graveyard.
“That was good timing,” said Lee.
“Not for me, it wasn’t,” said Dave.

In hot water. Or not.

A bright and warm day to usher in the new season.
I hadn’t slept well, mithering over a crisp order and whether the milk would arrive in time and when I should start offering hot cross buns.
We decided to open with just tea, coffee, cakes and tea cakes on offer. We’ll be starting lunches on Saturday but there’s so much to do before then.
We had planned to put finishing touches to the place today but plans went awry with the arrival of our first customers at 1045 (cappuccinos and a shared teacake).
Then Val and Alec arrived to show us the surprise winter addition to their family - cockerpoo Teddy.  Very, very lovely eyes.
Geoff and Maureen were the first to sit on the newly-painted chairs. I fear I need to do two more.
Then the water boiler decided to stop working.
There’s always something. Usually it’s quite a costly something .
Customers of the day were the new parents of ten-week old Sebastian. They were exhausted, they said, just about staying awake in the garden by propping each other up and eating teacakes.
I wish them a long, unbroken night.
I wish the same for myself.

Opening debits.

Chairs are all painted. Sort of. I stopped at 25.
Dishwasher bought (not yet arrived). It was £1,757. When I told Lee, my electrician, he said he’d do the washing up for that. I bet he wouldn’t.
During my research I was asked how many times a week the dishwashing cycle would run.
“A week?” I said, “that’s tricky.”
How many times a day, then?
I made a rough guess at 30 on a busy day. The sales person nearly choked.
Now he knows why I need two.
I also have hope that the other dishwasher I bought two years ago might work better this season. It’s always been a little on the slow side. I’ll know if we’ve quickened the pace by the end of this week.
This morning we’ve taken all the outside tables, which had been hibernating in the conservatory, back outside. They need a good clean before use.
I’ve just ordered three new outdoor coffee tables which should arrive on Wednesday.
I’ve ordered locally made fudge and cheese. The coffee beans and tea have already arrived.
The sun is shining and I am making the most of my last proper Sunday of freedom for a good while.
I am excited for reopening.
That’s a good sign.
It hasn’t happened for a while.

Bloody disappointed

Last week on Radio 5live I heard a mother ask people to give blood. Her daughter had had 144 transfusions during treatment for leukaemia and she was reminding people how important blood donation is to the NHS.

I hadn’t given for years and years. I couldn’t remember why I stopped, I’d always rather enjoyed giving blood and not just for the biscuits you’re given afterwards. I registered and got an appointment for this afternoon.
I sat in the waiting area, drank water and filled out a form.
My name was called and I went to join a man at a computer terminal to complete registration.
He put in my details.
“Ah,” he said, “apparently we can’t accept you.”
Computer said no.
He told me it looked like it had something to do with the last time I gave blood.
And then it all came back to me. Very odd. A sudden part of my memory I hadn’t accessed for years. I was on a waiting list for a simple, dull procedure the last time I was called to donate and when I told them they sent me home and said I couldn’t give until after it was all done.
In the end I didn’t need the mini-op at all.
That was about fifteen years ago.
Since then I’ve moved house a couple of times, changed jobs, changed lives and as I’ve never been back the data hadn’t had a chance to be updated
Still, that was fine. I could now give.
Except I couldn’t. They pricked my finger, squeezed out a blood blob and tested my haemoglobin. It needed to be 125. It was 123. I left without a biscuit and can’t go back for another 3 months.
Not as bad as when I tried to give blood as a student in London. The blood drive came to the campus and I  didn’t get further than the desk that time either.
The blood blob floated at the top of the test tube.
It’s supposed to sink.
The nurse looked at me and shook her head, “do you eat lots of red meat?” she asked, “No,” my 19 year old self answered, “I’m a vegetarian.”
“Do you eat lots of green vegetables?” she asked.
“No,” came my weak, teenage reply, “I don’t like vegetables.”
She told me there was not much in my blood they really wanted and I should go to my GP. I got the train home to Worcestershire. My mother gave me a plate of cooked liver and told me that should be the end of “this vegetarian nonsense”.
I should add that for most of my first year I survived on a diet of tinned potatoes and tinned sweetcorn. And now I’m in the catering business.
I found out today that out of thirteen attempts at giving blood I have failed three times.
Next time I can’t fail.

Moving the goalposts.

If you are planning to come to the tearooms when we reopen at the end of this month, please do not look too carefully at the chairs I’ve been painting.
I have just finished chair 17 of 28.
The process has taught me a lot about myself, none of it good.

My original plan was to rub down and paint 35.
I finished 8 and decided to switch to a darker paint.
I didn’t love the lighter paint so I came up with a theory (to convince myself) that it would be good to have a mixture of light and dark grey and that dark grey would be harder wearing.
Then I discovered that the dark grey paint needs two coats so takes a lot longer, plus the chairs don’t seem properly painted even after two coats. So after just five chairs I’ve given that up and changed back to dove grey which I have decided I do love now. Mainly because it doesn’t take hours to finish just one.
I’ve also come up with another theory (I’m good at theories which lessen my workload) that I only need 28 chairs for the main tearoom so I’ll use them there instead of the 35 needed for the conservatory.
In a nutshell: I am lazy. I can’t paint. I hate rubbing down chairs. I wish I’d never started.

Out of 28 chairs 5 of them will be a different colour.
Eventually I shall come up with a valid reason for this.

Unfinished business

Further to last post.
The cake signs are complete. That was the easiest and quickest job so clearly I did that first.
The wooden spoons are painted but not numbered and not varnished.
I have painted just eight chairs.
Finger needs to be pulled out.
We are now in March and by the end of this month we’ll be open again. I also need to buy a new dishwasher before then and do the dreaded deep clean.
In better news, the staff rota is looking healthy as almost everyone is returning.

Wood that I could.

Most mornings when I wake the news tells me how many days are left until we leave the EU. The Big Brexit date is 29th March.
This is a very helpful countdown.
Not because I have to do anything particular in the EU departure lounge but because the Tearooms reopen that day.
Well sort of.
We’re going to be “soft opening” on the Wednesday of that week, by which I mean that if anyone happens along we’ll be able to serve them something if not everything.
The official reopening is Saturday 30th.
Today I have been procrastinating.
I have to rub down twenty+ chairs and repaint them, paint 30 wooden spoons and a dozen or so little wooden cake signs.
I don’t want to do any of these things.