Yesterday afternoon, knowing she doesn't much like to cook, I invited Jeanette for dinner. "What time?" she asked. An innocuous question perhaps, but I didn't want to cause an upset to her usual routine or elect an unacceptable time. Did she normally eat early at 6.00pm, or perhaps later at 8.00pm? I quickly plumped for 7.00pm. "Oh, 7.00pm?" she said in a questioning tone which made me immediately think I'd opted for an unusual or inconvenient dinner time.
She arrived on the dot of 7.00pm. I have noticed that people are very punctual here, almost to the minute. She kindly came with a bottle of Australian wine and we settled in front of my - well actually, her - blazing log fire and quickly the discussion turned to Christmas decorations. At her request I had bought her a couple of Christmas tree decorations from Copenhagen, in exchange for the knitting bag she had bought me in Edinburgh last week. She seemed pleased with them - a large white wooden key and two silver doves that clip onto the branches. Jeanette is also planning to rifle through her attic and let me have masses of decorations so that I can be suitably festive, and we will go on an outing next week to a neighbouring village to buy Christmas trees for both cottages.
Having exhausted talk on fairy lights, advent calendars, mantlepiece hangings and door wreaths (I reminded her I wouldn't need one unless I had a disaster at the next Women's Institute wreath workshop; she in turn reminded me that I had to buy a gift for the Best Wrapped Santa Gift) the conversation moved, naturally enough to knitting. I am beating her in the premature baby hat count - I have knitted seven to her five. She has entered a rag doll making competition so she will have even less time for knitting hats over the next week or so. I don't want to look like a show-off so maybe I will slow down my output.
The evening sped by as I picked up lots of hints on how to be a domestic goddess, country-style; memorised yet more dates of forthcoming village events; added to my repertoire of Scottish words (bothy - a sort of shed for work tools); and checked on the protocol for social visits (is a gift mandatory?). In return I promised to write out the recipe for the chicken pie I cooked - phew, it was a relief to be able to reciprocate in some way.
Today I invited Elaine - my other neighbour, school cleaner and local poet - for afternoon tea. "What time?" she asked. I was about to say "4.00 o'clock" as I thought this was a pretty obvious time for afternoon tea when Elaine jumped in and said "2.00 o'clock?". And, bang on the dot of 2.00pm she knocked on my door, and gave me a box of chocolates.
I had set a tray with the best china, sugar bowl, milk jug and biscuits, and made proper teapot tea because I'm pretty sure I would lose any brownie points I may have accrued with the locals were I to dangle a teabag in a mug.
Elaine moved to the village from Fife about three years ago and admitted she was a bit lonely to begin with which was why she started writing poetry, but she said that there wasn't much money in poetry although she has been published in local papers and even been featured on the radio. Elaine loves to chatter so over several cups of tea, I sat back and I heard all about her family, her family's family, and why she left Fife (too noisy, too much traffic).
After she left, I worried that Dawn would have thought me rude arriving for morning coffee last week without an appropriate gift. But she did invite me to her Christmas party, so I expect this one social infraction was forgiven, but I shall take an especially nice present for her.
So I am no wiser about what time people around here eat dinner, but I think teatime can be any time. But then I knew that already.
No comments:
Post a Comment