Thursday morning has been and gone, but we have not really seen it. Last night we visited friends who live in the village and wine was taken. But that wasn't enough, was it? Oh dearie me no.
We came back to the cottage and carried on. Our friends Chris and Karen had brought a very nice bottle of Prosecco and it seemed a shame to waste it. It was followed by other drinks. This will not, in the years to come, be listed in the annals of good ideas. Certainly this morning none of us were full of the joys.
One by one we arise, wraith-like from our beds. Katie takes one look at me and orders me to close my eyes to minimise the risk of blood-loss. This is bad. Chris has taken their dog for a walk, risking charges of being drunk in charge of a collie.
Eventually we all venture out into the cruel sunshine, wearing sunglasses and looking like the worst rock stars ever. And then it happens. We see a sign that says: "Cream teas." We look at each other and an unspoken agreement is formed. Tea. Wholesome food. This, we need. Not so rock 'n' roll after all.
I have the Cawl a Caws. It's a welsh soup/stew concoction. Call it a stoup, if you like. It has mutton and leeks and potato and carrots. You're given slabs of cheese to break up and drop in, so they melt into the mixture. As I eat I feel its restorative effects spreading. Oh my God, they should put this stuff on the NHS.
The others are slowly coming to life around me too. As gallons of hot tea are consumed, it's like watching the tide go out. "Anyone for something else?" asks Chris, expectantly. Katie and Karen launch into the whole "scone"/"scon" debate and I think about Welsh cakes.
And I wonder to myself. I've had a Welsh meal already. There are non-Welsh items on the menu I could have, after all. If I order another Welsh thing to follow-on, will the people running the tea-house think I'm taking the mick? Could my menu choices be seen as patronising? It's the Statute of Rhuddlan all over again, and I don't want to be Edward I.
For those of you who don't know your 13th Century history, that last bit was hilarious.
3 comments:
Ah cawl - after that I think it would have been unpatriotic (well as unpatriotic as a frequent Pembs visitor can get) not to have Welsh cakes, mind - a slice of Bara Brith and they'd have called in reinforcements and it would have been like a flash back to the Palm Sunday of 1282 ;o)
I'd always have a huge, hot, greasy breakfast after a night of drinking.
Jo - I think Bara Brith would have been the Doomsday option.
Brandy Rose - if we'd only woken up early enough for breakfast to be an option, I'd have gone for it. It was the indecent side of noon before I left my bed.
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