Thoroughly spoilt - for maybe the last time.

On Sunday, we were thoroughly spoilt.

It was The Hubby’s birthday, and as it has been a pretty crap year I decided he needed treating. To make things complete, it was a gorgeous day with clear blue sky and the sun shining, in fact warmer than many days we had in June or July.

So we headed to the South Bank and wandered up and down by the Thames in the sunshine. We looked at all the craft stalls and bought a few bits and bobs for Christmas as well as partaking of a glass of really delicious gluwein. Then we wandered up to Covent Garden and did a bit more Christmas shopping, topping it all off with afternoon tea at the Savoy Hotel.

My, it’s posh in there! The hotel recently had a total refit and was closed for a period of 18 months, reopening in splendour about a year ago. Goodness knows how much it cost, but it gleams with polished marble floors and beautiful wooden panelling, and you sink into chairs with massive padded cushions you could sleep on (and we nearly did once we’d stuffed ourselves with dainty little sarnies, scones and cream, pastries and cake – oh, and after a glass of very nice champagne, which many of you will know isn’t usually my choice of drink).

When you go to a posh London hotel for tea it really is a treat, and you don’t have to lift a finger. Each time a waiter wanders past the table they top up your tea cup and the refills of food and beverage just keep coming (although not the champagne, which you pay for by the glass). Nothing is too much trouble; I asked for a different chair to accommodate my crook back, and straight away one was whisked in from somewhere and the unsuitable one squirreled away. We each wanted different blends of tea; “Of course, Madam” and within minutes two gleaming silver teapots arrived at the table (well, probably very well polished chrome) with wisps of steam coming from their spout, and proper tea leaves inside and a posh silver tea strainer. For all I know the waiter went away and swore in Polish or whatever his native language was (they are all foreign) but to our face he couldn’t have been more helpful.

It really is nice to treat yourself occasionally and in our case, see how the other half lives. Short of a lottery win, we will never be able to do this more regularly so it felt very indulgent and to be able to do it actually on The Hubby’s birthday was even better. We even treated ourselves to a cab back to Victoria, which The Hubby normally snubs as an upper class, elite indulgence. Personally my feet were killing me and we had shopping to carry, so there was no way I was walking and birthday or not, he would have been on his own.

Now of course, it’s back to reality and certainly after Christmas, if he still doesn’t have a job, we will fall upon hard times. Some hard decisions will have to be made about spending and alternative types of work, and we will really cut back. The monthly treat then will probably be Wetherspoon’s curry night (and nothing wrong with that, after all!).

Research is continuing into alternative means of living and going out on a limb with something completely different, but I am so tied up with panto I haven’t got very far. But come next year, when panto will be over, I am no longer Treasurer of the operatic society and I can focus, I do intend to try and do something definite about it.

They say it takes a crisis to a) make you appreciate what you have got and b) take courageous decisions, so maybe this is it. Good job we spoilt ourselves now, we may never get the chance again!

A nice cup of tea!

I made my boss a cup of tea one day last week. His PA was off sick and he had been beavering away for hours, and as I was making one for myself I offered to do one for him as well (and to be completely truthful it’s coming up to bonus award time soon, so I was toadying a bit, too!)

So I disappeared off to the miniscule cupboard which our Premises Management team laughingly call a kitchen, made his cuppa and plonked it back down on the desk, milk no sugar as requested.

“How did you get it that colour after about 30 seconds?” he said, looking scathingly at said cuppa. “I squeezed the tea bag” I said. “So it hasn’t brewed, then?” he asked. “Well, briefly” I responded, feeling somewhat miffed. I didn’t have to make his bloody tea, after all. I mean how ungrateful can you get? “Oh!”. Which spoke volumes. Anyway, he drank it just the same. But I doubt I will be offering again!

Isn’t it odd how precious we can become about something so small. I don’t really mind, of course, the poor man is entitled to prepare his tea in any way he chooses and I’m probably just as bad. Too impatient you see – once it’s made I want to get it down my neck and not fart around waiting for it to change colour all by itself. Just give it a good squeeze for goodness sake. But it is the little things like that which mark us out from the rest of the animal kingdom. We’re particular and fussy in a way that most aren’t, and we can’t  half get upset if things aren’t done in the way we want them to be.

Afternoon tea is, of course, a bit of a British Institution (capital letters deliberate). For my 50^th birthday last year, one of my treats was afternoon tea at the Dorchester Hotel on Park Lane. It was fantastic – dainty little sarnies with lots of different fillings, scones with clotted cream and jam and amazing confectionery concoctions, with the plates refilled as often as you like. We had a glass of champers and some lovely (I imagine properly brewed) strong afternoon tea in posh china cups you could see the light through, poured through a proper strainer from a very posh tea pot. Pianist tinkling away in the background, deferential service, fab! Could definitely have got used to it – although then it wouldn’t be such a treat. I am seriously thinking of treating The Hubby to a similar treat at a different hotel for his birthday in November – maybe the Ritz or the Savoy.

An afternoon tea shop is something I have often thought about opening when eventually I retire to Crete, to be open all year serving proper sarnies, scones, cakes and ice cream sundaes. I’d open it on the main square of the town and stay open all year to serve the ex-pat community (generally speaking, when I do retire I’d like to immerse myself in the life of the locals and not become part of an ex-pat enclave, but their money is as good as anyone elses’, there’s nothing like this there at the moment and I know I could do this well!).

It’s an idea at that, but when it comes to it in a few years time, will I be bothered? I’ll probably just want to relax and enjoy myself having worked hard every year of my life since I was 17. Who knows?