(Yes, I skipped Day 2)

High T and ESB

Have you ever been somewhere so historic, so grand, that the mere idea of sneezing frightens you?

We went there. And we drank champagne. And we handed our feet over to people who knew how to pamper them. Truth: I actually WANT to look at my feet now.

And then we travelled up a flight of stairs, walked through two doors, and it was time for Grand High Tea.

(Which required emergency rush shipping of a dress because “jeans are inappropriate.”

Dress looked great.

Felt a little bit like a bumbling idiot drinking quite posh tea. Trying to shmear jam and cream on my scone, to have all the jam and shmear fall off before reaching my mouth. Do I commit and just eat naked scone? Do I play the awkward fool and loudly admit my blunder? Do I descreetly scoop the jam and cream off the table with my finger and reslather it on my naked bite of scone? Turns out, it didn’t really matter in the end because the scone crumbled in my awkward grip and lest I snort up crumbs like an ant-eater, the moment was gone. I merely shifted my plate over the fallen jam and cream, and brushed the crumbs to the side of the plate, and took another bite of scone.

…that fell apart when I tried to shmear the jam and cream on a little more securely.

Thank gawd this dining area is so spectacularly grand! Look at that sconce!

In the end, it turned out I was a fail from the beginning. One does not START with the scone and jam, one starts with the mini munchkin sandwiches. (Which, by the way, are not actually “finger sandwiches,” because they are at LEAST three bite sandwiches, and if one is not careful in their bite, posh sandwich toppings are at risk of abandoning ship. In which case, the drama begins. Do I pretend it didn’t slide down ny chin and fall on the table, and keep eating? Do I awkwardly announce my blunder? Do I pluck the slice of cucumber off the table and replace it on my bite?

Let’s just say, my napkin got a lot of work cleaning my chin.

So I drank my champagne.

…

Back to the hotel for a quick rest. The uninvited rain fell gracefully. And when no one seemed to take it seriously, it fell like, as my brother put it, “dinasaur piss.”

Down to a humble, English style pub for dinner. And yes, our first meal out with our long traveled English family, and we take them to an English pub. Big T, aka Texas friend, asks what the family feels about their new king. I get his attention and remind him that it is awkward to talk about the new king, in an English pub, in America, with our English family.

I ended up ordering The “Queen” Mother burger, medium rare. It seemed appropriate.

It was Burger and Brew Wednesday.

The day is actually over now, and I’m not sure how I got to this point. Multiple mimosas? Dom Perignon? Pints of my beautiful E.S.B? Or maybe I have begun finally falling into the spirit of it…

Tomorrow, we travel again. To a town closer to the wedding (castle) venue. And things will begin a new level of real all over again…