Tea With Alice.

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Darlings, after the hurly burly of the boudoir, there is nothing nicer than a cup of tea…

There is just something so genteel about a cup and saucer and ladies, I am nothing if not genteel. Elegance is all, so naturally I need celadon china on sterling silver served by the help in a drawing room full of flirty French furniture and in-laws framed in gilt. The tea, Sweethearts, has to be Mariage Frere’s "Alexandra David-Neels" (Ship it, Darling, ship it.) although, one supposes, mere mortals will get away with one of Typhoos more refined blends…

While I am not adverse to taking tea with company, other women can be shockingly dull, and Dear Arabella is nothing short of uncouth. What kind of woman takes afternoon tea in her UGG’s? (What kind of woman is still trolling around in the dratted things?) Yes I understand: Viktor and Rolf jeans may be the height of fashion, but jeans my dear, are jeans, and UGG’s: well we’ll say no more…

Tea was made to be taken in a pencil skirt. One should cross ones ankles and sit up straight, breasts as pert as nature will allow. Please try not to slouch. Women, we are supposed to be delicious morsels of feminity, not poor imitations of a teenage boy.. So, yes, sit up straight. Take your elbows off the Chippendale and sip. God Help us, Arabella slurps (and probably swears, like a Navvie), but the woman comes from the outer lying regions of Camden, so it is, I suppose to be expected…

If all else fails, if your friends like mine were never finished, then sweeties you have no choice but to take tea alone. Do as I do, (for I can’t imagine why you would do any different!), turn up the Gershwin, close your eyes and drown in the sheer sophistication of it.

And if there is a man to massage your ten deniered toes while you compose yourself, well that is, one imagines, all the better…

Till next time Sweeties…

Ciao!