Afternoon tea

"There are few hours in life more agreeable than the hour (or so)

dedicated to the ceremony known as afternoon tea."

Henry James

---oOo---

Dunston Hall front facade

Afternoon tea is the most quintessential of English customs which was

first popularised by Anna, the 7th Duchess of Bedford, in 1840.

Evening meals, at that time, were served fashionably late at around

8pm and poor old Anna used to get the nibbles well before that.

Not your average greasey spoon!

It was she who kicked the whole thing off by inviting a few friends to

join her for a cup of tea and a slice of cake about 4pm and by 1880

it had blossomed into a social event.  Upper class bints and members

of the aristocracy would get themselves all tarted up before getting

stuck into their high teas and this delightful custom still continues today.

We weren't the only VIP's who'd rocked up for a cuppa!

Think cucumber sanies with the crusts cut orf, scones with cream and

jam, cakes, pastries and Ceylon tea all served up on the best bone china.

Think Claridges, the Dorchester, Harrods, Fortnum & Mason and

you've got the picture.  My friend Angela, who was the birthday girl

last weekend thought Dunston Hall.

Very posh apples and pears.

The hall is a mock Elizabethan, Grade II listed building in the village

of Dunston, in the fair county of Norfolk.  Construction began in 1859

to the design of the architect John Chessell Buckler and records show

that it occupies the site of a much earlier post-medieval building.

You could certainly see what you were eating.

Dunston Hall was derelict for a time and was renovated and opened as

a four star hotel in 1993 to much acclaim.  It stands in 150 acres of

wooded parkland and boasts an 18 hole golf course, indoor swimming

pool, two fine restaurants and 169 en-suite bedrooms.  It's quite a gaff!

Mock-Elizabethan chimneys nearly as good as Hampton Court.

So last Saturday seven of us girls swanned off in a convoy, done up to the

nines in our posh frocks on a wave of perfume.  We sipped with little

fingers raised, we nibbled with starched white serviettes on our laps,

we gossiped, we laughed, we put the world to rights and we had the best

of times but we didn't hit the champagne until we got back to Acle and

none of us had to drive any more.

Touch of the William Morris about thi window.

Whose birthday is it next - I'm getting peckish again?

Now that's a frame just begging for a sampler in it.