Today I took my small mother to the largest town in Angus, Arbroath, home to quite a few tearooms (at least one of which is particularly good and will be featuring in my guide book).
To work up an appetite for lunch we took a cold, windswept turn about a park near the sea. This park had some strange-looking trees in it, strange because they had no branches low down, only up near the canopy:
Another day when I’m back in Arbroath I’ll take a stroll along the promenade, which stretches off into the distance. I didn’t even know it existed until today.
The lunch was good, but I didn’t take any pictures for fear of causing distress. As usual when I visit tearooms, I whipped out my notebook in this tearoom and began scribbling in it as I perused the menu. While I was doing this, the waitress came over and asked me to desist from this activity because it was upsetting the management. They thought I was a rival tearoom owner stealing their prices, or perhaps planning to undercut them, so I had to assure them I was only writing a book about tearooms and was thinking of including theirs. After that they were much happer. I will be revisiting that tearoom again soon, and perhaps then I’ll be able to snap a sneaky shot, but only if it’s not going to upset anybody. One doesn’t want to cause anguish to people who are supplying one’s lunch, after all.
After lunch we drove on, intending to visit a tearoom not far from home that needs another visit, but instead got waylaid by a large wooden rooster outside a farm shop and cafe along a little quiet road in the middle of nowhere (or so it seemed to me):
Inside the shop there was a host of food and gift items creatively displayed:
The tearoom was warm and welcoming with pretty spotted tablecloths and orange teacups on the tables. An entire wall at one end of the room was painted with a jolly rural scene:
And at the other end of the tearoom, in a separate section, there was a fine figure of a kilted Scotsman outside his wee hoose:
After our delicious and relaxing afternoon tea, it was time for home, under the watchful gaze of the rooster, who kept his beady eye on my mum as she left the premises.