A cup of tea please


Whilst waiting for my car to have it legs pulled apart and thrust with pokers running devices and flashing bulbs, the end result was an ultimate fail. A fail on bulbs and glue: little things that can be fixed and indeed they are being, but all the while, I must wait in a village that I honestly think is rather beautiful, beneath  the stunning hills of Winderton, Lower Brailles, Oxfordshire (although I really think it is Warwickshire) where the sun actually shines in this summer of 2012 and the leaves and hills are glorious in those rays, I must wait firstly by a village shop that, as some of my Twitter friends have since discovered from my rants, does not serve tea or coffee, nor does it serve croissants or light patisserie, (if you would like fast food fodder in cans you are welcome to it). I sufficed my appetite with a carton of Ribena, which began its life in 1938 and to this very day I do not think has changed its taste formula, and which my estranged sister in-law has on occasion told me that I was not to give Ribena to her children for it will rot their teeth (which may or may not be true, but I was brought up on the stuff and I have no fillings nor are my teeth rotten at the age of 42).

I take the Ribena and wait outside a pub yet to open, basking in the glorious morning sunshine, where on the blackboards announce coffee and cake served from 9am….  well I thought I would have been in and out of this village by then, but no, I fail on bulbs and glue. The garage, an  historic adventure with tin poster markings and painted brickwork will be looking at my bulbs and glue in an hour after they  have facilitated the next car in line to be thrusted upon with utter rigorous manoeuvres checking if it is safe for the driver to participate in road commuting skills. So I must endure this pub (now open) and be served a ‘tea (with spoon standing up) and cake’. The cake smells of cow and the tea has a builder standing inside the cup. However, on further investigation of smelling the slice, I have decided it is in fact lemon cake with an extra serving of bicarb. Nice.

This is NOT the Archers or how I have imagined a village with such historic buildings aligning the roads to be. Photos of horse and carts decorate the pub walls with a photo of the road winding through the valley. Their country fair is next month with an increasingly long list of vegetable and floral entries, accompanied by a pony dressage and the usual dog competition. This village takes great pride in its traditions and community spirit, so why is the village shop missing a cup of tea?

I rest my case hoping my bulbs and glue will be resolved allowing me listen to the Archers later in my car where, I know real village life action occurs.