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.