As we made our way back to the Green Park Hilton for afternoon tea, I allowed Hubby to linger under the misconception that he would soon be eating a sandwich. In Hubby's world, a sandwich is also variously known as a sub, a hoagie or even a grinder. Whatever you call it, Hubby believes that a sandwich should be a great, honking Dagwood doorstop of a meal. Boy, was he in for a rude awakening.
When we got to the hotel, we were shown into the Berry Bar and Lounge by a uniformed waiter and seated at a cozy banquette.
"Thank God we're out of those crowds," sighed Hubby. "You can't walk two feet in London without finding yourself in the middle of a crowd. Crossing the street is like taking your life in your hands. I hate crowds."
Our waiter returned and handed us each a flute of champagne.
"What's this?" asked Hubby.
"I thought we were having tea."
"It's a champagne afternoon tea."
"What? They can't make up their minds? When do they bring the menues? I'm starving."
"There aren't any menues. Afternoon tea is afternoon tea."
The waiter returned with a box of tea samples, presented it to us and then left us to make our choices.
"Tea. We have to choose which tea we want. See the labels here? Darjeeling, Earl Grey, Gunpowder, Lapsang Souchong . . . . . . "
"Do they have Lipton's?"