On Saturday, when my friend arrived for a weekend visit, I foolishly told him that he could purchase a sandwich in town. This didn't seem like an unreasonable ambition in a big town like ours. However, after rejecting various venues (too crowded, too cakey, too flimsy/too main meal'y, no food at all'y), I panicked and suggested what I admitted was a vaguely average tea room. But at least, I hoped, he could get a much needed sandwich there. As we waited to be seated, I again re-iterated the average nature of the establishment. Sitting down at the tables, I realised how dowdy the decor was: Walls painted in what I can only describe as grotty, frumpy 1980s pink were displaying decidedly odd cat paintings: One depicted a couple, standing on their hind legs, about to get married. "That cat looks terrified", remarked my friend. I really felt that he looked proud, but then again, I am no expert in cat expressions. Another painting depicted a mother cat, still on her hind legs, cradling her twin kittens. We couldn't decide which was worse: Painting these wretched pictures, buying them or displaying them, and felt concerned about everyone involved in the process. Meanwhile, the table was covered in an old floral tablecloth, on top of which was a cream platic sheet. Why shops decide that this is a good look is beyond me. Not deterred by these minor decorating sins, the menu, while laminated, still attempted to project a touch of class by mentioning the word "vintage". The classy attempt was carried on in another leaflet which suggested that you may want to buy a souvenir to remind you of your teashop experience, in the form of some vintage plates. These were "displayed" in a small cardboard box next to the till at the front.
While I have nothing against plates from charity shops, It does seem rather cheeky to buy them, display them in such a lazy manner and then expect people to pay, say £2 for a large plate. If our goodies had been served in vintage porcelain, I could at least see the logic, but everything was served in cheap, plain white, rippled porcelain, reminiscent of canteens up and down the country. Anyway, I digress. Back at the table, we were studying our menu. A group of teas were under the heading "made from teabags". "I am not sure whether that is a boast or a disclaimer", I muttered. There was also a bewildering option to purchase "boiling water - without tea, coffee..." and something else. I suppose you had to buy this separately, because their teas were actually quite cheap.
After much eating, drinking and chatting, I decided to go to the toilet. Luckily, there was one toilet for men and one for the ladies. I say luckily, because as I sat down, I realised that I appeared to have a rather explosive stomach. After finishing, I noticed the sound of rustling outside. Oh no, please don't let it be a lady, who will undoubtedly faint if she comes in here. When I nervously opened the door, hoping to find either a man, or better, no-one there, I was devastated to discover the female teashop owner waiting outside. All I could do was walk past, then hurriedly pay and run.....some things are definitely best left at home. And what did my friend comsume in there? Did he buy one of their sandwiches? No, he plumped for fruit scone with clotted cream and jam. That and some hot chocolate with cream.
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