We toddled on a bit farther and then we found our tearoom. This was a classic Olde Worlde, hickledy-pickledy kind of place. Just what you would expect to find in a village that was thriving when Shakespeare was still an undiscovered playwright.
Across from the teashop was a private house gloriously overrun by a dazzling array of purple and white wisteria. On closer inspection, I saw that ancient branches of the tree had sprung from the pavement to enclose the lower part of the house in its gnarly grasp. But from just a short distance away, the effect was magical, the house appeared to float on a huge bed of fluffy petals. The perfect backdrop for our “elevenses,” the mid-morning break when tea or coffee is slurped down with cakey things and hot buttered toast .
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