This afternoon I have been at a workshop to endeavour to learn how to improve our social media.Watch this space.Still nervous.
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.
On Friday morning when we opened up there was a surprise.
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.
Two rain-free days and the prospect of a seriously hot and sunny weekend.
This could be it.
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.
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.
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.
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.
“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?”
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.