The Things We Do For A Scone

It was so cold, we thought it must be some kind of joke. Of course, it was December in London and raining sideways but really, this was not at all funny. 

My sister and I had a day to spend in London without the children. They were safely tucked away in school and would be collected by friend Rosie (she of the scones). So we had no strict deadline on this Day of Days. We felt light as feathers as we rode the train toward the beauty and the brilliance that was London.

It was a Day of Days because we were going to luxuriate at The Savoy for Afternoon Tea. This was a much anticipated privilege we had never thought to experience, being the small town farming community girls that we were. We knew that it was upscale and pricey, but The Savoy was at the top of both our wish lists. And we were ecstatic. 

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Yet we were wary of somehow bungling it in front of the 'cultured' who gathered there. We determined together to be very careful, very proper. We would glide through the doors with grace. Also, we would not be obviously American (we had heard of Obvious Americans, and did not wish to be mistaken for one). 

And so we felt ready. But as we approached London, we discovered WE HAD NO UMBRELLA - and by now it was simply pouring with rain. We stumbled through Paddington Station toward the Tube, rode one as near to the Savoy as we could get (not near enough) - and had to make a mad dash of it. It was not the carefully proper entry we had hoped for. No. I'm afraid we suddenly became what we really were. Obviously American. Oh dear..

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We were both soaking wet (understatement). Our makeup was dislodged, and our hair? -wet strings. Shoes squished and clothing dripped as we made our way through the luxurious entrance. A waiter (or was he the Butler? we weren't sure..) approached to enquire as to our reservation. I in turn enquired as to where we might find the loo. And there in the calm luxury of that cultured restroom, we repaired what damage we could. But there is only so much one can do against a torrent, without one's makeup bag.

The 'Butler' was gracious (behaving as though we were flawlessly coifed), kindly led us to our tea table and oversaw the delivery of the following culinary riches:

• pots of fine leaf tea
• finger sandwiches
• homemade scones (with clotted cream and jam)
• seasonal cakes and pastries, all created by the Savoy Executive Pastry Chef

We ate every bite, and came away groaning.

In the end, it didn't matter that we had come in looking as though the cat itself had dragged us; it didn't matter that someone there might think we were Americans. It didn't even really matter how we felt when handed the bill (umm..aghast). Because as they say, there are some things money can't buy.

For everything else, there's MasterCard*.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/dahlstroms/5532390715/

See you along the way!

the SconeLady

*1997 MasterCard 'Priceless' Commercial

photo credit: <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/762_photo/2235223789/">762_AK</a> via <a href="http://photopin.com">photopin</a> <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/2.0/">cc</a>

photo credit: <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/23410878@N08/5498118892/">OblioZen</a> via <a href="http://photopin.com">photopin</a> <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/2.0/">cc</a>

photo credit: <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/dahlstroms/5532390715/">Håkan Dahlström</a> via <a href="http://photopin.com">photopin</a> <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/">cc</a>