Saturday lunch time, I met a friend for a spot of lunch at the local garden centre. It was a bit of a late lunch on account of the plasterer ‘phoning first thing and saying he could come out NOW rather than Sunday morning, if that was at all convenient. I said it was, he arrived NOW and the kitchen ceiling was repaired neatly and efficiently within a couple of hours. It’s dried out nicely. I’ll paint it over this week and the only clue that a ‘foot through the ceiling’ incident happened will be the £220 hole in the bank account. Ah well…
Anyway, Nell and I waved cheerio to the plasterer and set off to meet our friend. The garden centre café works on a ‘choose from the menu, then take your table number and order from the counter’ system, where you can collect tea, coffee and cake immediately, and anything else ordered - sandwiches, jacket potatoes, soup etc - will be delivered to your table. My friend took charge of Nell whilst I went to order food.
The queue at the counter was long. Well, it was a Saturday, and it was dull and rainy, and what else do people do on a dull, rainy Saturday than go to a garden centre for tea and cake?Anyway, I don’t mind standing in a queue. It was moving and the serving girls behind the counter were doing a sterling job of taking orders and payments and keeping the whole process of a busy lunchtime service running smoothly. And, as the poem (almost) goes, ‘What is this life, if full of care, we have no time to admire eclairs?’
Whilst standing in the queue and minding my own business, like you do, a gentleman approached and said to me, ‘Can you tell me what it says on that cake label, please?’ And he pointed at the glass dome directly in front of where I was standing. ‘It says they are three-cheese scones,’ said I. ‘Made on the premises with organic flour.’
‘Cheese scones?’ said the man.
‘Not just one cheese,’ said I. ‘Three cheeses : cheddar, Parmesan and Stilton, no less.’
‘Goodness,’ said the man. ‘Are the cakes here nice?’
I confirmed they were. The man said, ‘Thank you. It was nice to meet you.’ And off he went. Clearly not interested in three cheese scones after all.
A minute or so later, the chap in the queue in front of me turned and said, ‘Excuse me, but do you know where I can get butter to go with my scone? I can’t see any on the counter anywhere.’
‘When you reach the till and pay, they’ll give you some,’ said I.
‘At the till?’ said the man.
‘At the till,’ I confirmed.
‘And cutlery?’ said the man.
‘Over there, by the menus,’ said I, pointing to where the cutlery was stacked in a basket next to the menus.
The queue moved forward. The woman behind me was making loud noises about there had better be some oat milk on offer for her tea. I really wanted to say, ‘Eurgh, really? Oat milk in tea? It’s vile.’ But I didn’t because that would have been rude. Also, she might not have any taste buds, in which case my interjection would also have been irrelevant.
I was almost at the front of the queue when another man approached and said, ‘Excuse me, can I just reach though and get a couple of straws. I’m not pushing in.’
I said, ‘I’d beat you back with my tray if you were pushing in!’ All jolly and cheerful-like.
The man laughed. ‘Steady on!’ he said. He took his straws and retreated away from the woman in the queue with an empty tray/weapon.
The man in front of me in the queue (him wanting the butter) turned and said, ‘What did you say to that chap?’
I repeated my light-hearted tray battering threat and butter man laughed.
And finally I got to the front of the queue myself, placed my order and returned to my friend and Nell.
My friend said, ‘You were very popular in the queue.’
I said, ‘I think I’ve just got one of those faces that makes people want to talk.’
Which is ironic, given I’d rather they didn’t. Sigh.
Here is a recent photo of Nell. She has just been offended by something my Mum said to her over FaceTime. Something about perhaps her owner should get someone to clip her fur properly rather than insisting on doing it herself…(double sigh…eye roll…)
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