In search of tea

Can one get nostalgic for a past one hasn’t experienced? I expect there’s a German word for it.  I know the pre and post war periods weren’t really romantic, but I’ve read a couple of historical novels in succession. This has made me think how lovely it would be to live in a little flat in Bloomsbury, earning a living from doing a bit of typing, and then toasting crumpets over the fire for tea.

Or, one could run up to London for a treat, properly dressed in gloves and a hat, and pop to one’s marvelous little dressmaker for a fitting. I expect some charming chap would take one for lunch before going back to his office. So you’d have time for afternoon tea with a friend, before changing for cocktails, dinner and dancing at the latest club. Oh, you must have heard about it, darling, everyone’s going there.

I always think the Lyons Corner House sounded like a wonderful institution, the perfect place to collapse and unburden oneself of the string-tied parcels. Always somewhere to get tea and a bun for a few shillings, and I bet the waitress brought more hot water as a matter of course. I’m sure it wasn’t always very good tea and that the buns weren’t always very fresh, but at least it was table service and you could sit down.

That’s what London needs, I think. After a few hours pottering around on Saturday, I had my one small bag of purchases, a new book and tired feet. Obscurely feeling that if I drifted off the main highway, I might find a proper tea room, or at least a Pret with some empty seats, I carried on walking. The vision in my head was for just such a welcoming establishment as I imagine Lyons to have been. I wasn’t looking for the full on three tier cake stand and silver teapot experience, just somewhere that might do a decent cuppa.

No such luck, of course, and I ended up in one branch of an indistinguishable coffee chain, but which at least had a spare table and a friendly barista. I paid the best part of a fiver for one teabag in a pot, and a muffin that I watched being taken out of the plastic wrapping. Either it wasn’t baked on premises, or they take food hygiene very seriously indeed. The cafe was thriving, though: people meeting to chat, some taking a break from shopping, someone else reading and taking notes. I was left undisturbed for an hour while I read.

Was Lyons the mediocre, oh it’ll do option of its day?

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