The Best Tea in Life is Free?

Sometimes, in a funny tick of language, we add a certain prefix to the word “adventure:” namely, “mis.” It indicates a happening in which something goes awry. Every “adventure” presents obstacles. To quote my father, “It’s not an adventure until somebody loses an eye.” Or, to quote my youngest sister, “It’s not an adventure unless it’s hellish and fun.” Yet there is a certain lightness to the word “misadventure.” It means that something went awry, slightly wrong, a bit bad, but, well, nobody lost an eye.

Whether the time I received free afternoon tea qualifies as a “misadventure,” I’m not entirely sure. But as a story with a happy ending, perhaps it’s a bit of a fairy tale.

So we shall endeavor to tell it as one.

We shall not begin with the colloquial “once upon a time,” for the number of fairy tales that actually begin with that phrase is not, in fact, that great a sum. Instead, we shall begin at the beginning and end at the end. That, after all, sounds a bit more like the usual turn of a fairy-story.

It was a day of uncertain weather, overcast and grey, yet warm, as though September would sip at the last drop of summer with a slow relish, unlike the thirsty drinking of June, July, and August. It was in this uncertain, grey-warm weather that a lassie set out for the Whittingtons Tea Barge. The prospect of tea on a barge sounded rather romantic, a proper castle-in-the-sky sort of place (or in this case, on-the-river). So off she went, aided by her magical map, to seek the wondrous place.

Now, magic always comes with some limitations. The wise readers will know this well and even the foolish will know it a little. Perhaps you are reading this now with a magical device the faults of which may include slowness, unresponsiveness, having-to-turn-it-off-and-then-on-again-ness, and so on. Well, one fault of the lassie’s magic map was that it did not fairly characterize the walkableness of the routes it told her to take. To be sure, it sometimes deigned to mention this fact in a small warning. But it gave no such warning that day.

First, the lassie came to a large garden guarded by an enormous lion. This lion took the form of a statue, but its bulging sinews and proud stance suggested that it may also choose to take the form of a living beast at any moment. The lassie did not notice this, which was all the better for her. And so she passed the first danger without a second thought.

Second, the lassie came to a great bridge across the way that formed a dark and foreboding tunnel. Now, both bridges and dark passages feature often in fairy tales, and this one presented the most formidable danger of the lassie’s journey. Dark and dank and smelling of terrible things, it hovered all shadow and menace and corners behind which goblins might hide. Goblin scrawlings covered the walls and litter was strewn about. The lassie had to take comfort in the fact that it was near mid-day, so that the light of the sun guided her through this gloomy place. She cringed a little, but braced herself, and guided by the faint light through the overcast clouds she passed the second danger.

After the lassie passed through the tunnel, she came upon a busy street full of speeding transportation cars, all whines and grumbles and honking, racing round one of those remarkably anti-pedestrian inventions known as a roundabout. With no pedestrian crossing-lights. The lassie braced herself once more, and, looking left-and-right and left-and-right madly, hoping a transport car would not catch her in her blindspot unawares, she sped across the first crosswalk. And a second time, she repeated the process, speeding across the second (pedestrian-light-less) crosswalk. She’d made it. The third obstacle was finally crossed.

This is the part of our fairy tale where “adventure” may, if you please, turn into “misadventure.”

When the lassie came at last to the river on which floated the tea barge, she crossed over a different sort of bridge: a lovely, arching bridge with a row of enchanted lamps. Ducks swam and splashed and quacked. In the nearby grassy green, children ran and spun and giggled. There seemed no prospect at all of losing an eye. But soon she would encounter the prospect of losing a tea, the whole purpose of her coming.

Unbeknownst to her, this lovely tea barge was not only a romantic place but a place in high demand. Prince and princess, fairy and sprite, mother and shopkeeper, all crowded the barge with their teacups, their sandwich trays, and their merry laughter. Those in the know had come prepared. That is, using their magic devices, they’d made reservations. And for those who wanted to just pop in unannounced, well, there was no room.

At first there appeared to be tables empty and waiting for wanderers to come sit at them. The lassie wandered to one such table. Running about the place, helter-skelter and how-d’you-do, a pleasant-faced woman with slightly unkempt hair seemed to be the one in charge: the tea-fairy. The tea-fairy came up to the lassie and politely let her know that all of the seats in the barge were reserved. If she could just step outside to wait, they would seat her once one became available. That is, I’m pretty sure those were her instructions. But you see, as the barge became more and more busy and bustling and overwhelmed with princes and princesses and fairies and sprites and mothers and shopkeepers and all manner of persons, another busy and smiling and bustling fairy — the waitress-fairy — did not realize the lassie’s lack of reservations. And it was some little time before anybody realized that the only way the lassie could possibly have her tea was to sit at some tables that the establishment kept on the bank. When both the tea-fairy and waitress-fairy realized this together, they made such a kind apology. But really, you know, it was all due to the lassie not making reservations.

The waitress-fairy, with a lot of nice conversation and polite fuss and apology, made a spot for the lassie at one of their tables on the bank of the river, with a cosy blanket and a view of the outside of the tea barge.

The lassie ordered what they in that land call “cream tea,” which is tea with a scone, jam and clotted cream. There she sat, observing the magical bustle of the tea barge from the outside, the cozy blanket on her lap. And she drank her tea, a most divine Earl Grey, and nibbled at her scone. Certainly next time she ought to make a reservation so that she might sit inside. But she still enjoyed an incredibly pleasant afternoon tea.

When the lassie made her way back into the busy hive of the tea-barge, towards the tea-fairy bustling about all fluster and flurry and smiles, she handed back the cosy blanket and started to ask for the cheque.

But the kindly tea-fairy told her that because she had had to wait for so long, the tea was “on the house.”

And so the lassie enjoyed an incredibly nice afternoon tea completely free.

Perhaps it was enough of a happy ending to this fairy tale that the lassie did, at last, get her tea. But the tea-fairy’s gesture was really so kind. And besides, she did not just give the lassie a free cream tea. Those words, “on the house,” lit a spark in the lassie’s imagination.

You see, the other thing that the lassie received from the tea-fairy and waitress-fairy that day was a story.

And now we shall, after beginning at the beginning, end at the end. Now you, dear readers, may judge for yourselves whether this ought to be called a “misadventure” — and whether or not it made a good fairy tale.