Eating cake. And tarts. And brownies. Well, anything sweet like that, really.
When it drizzles lightly and you don't know whether you should put up your umbrella and look like a coward (but stay dry and happy), or be brave (but get wet and cold).
My friend had a tea party for her eighteenth yesterday, and it was lovely. The teashop is sort of hidden on Caledonian Road and it's called 'Drink, Shop & Do', and it's quaint and pretty. We sat and drank tea and ate cake and triangular sandwiches; it was a very proper and civilised affair.
We even played Scrabble, but soon got frustrated and gave up. (Grr. Why is 'affix' spelt with two f's? Is it that necessary?)
The furniture was all mismatched and colourful, the teacups and saucers didn't match either and it gave a really offbeat feel.
|Teaparty! Rave! JK.|
'Ooh, going to a house party, eh? Gonna be dancing the night away, eh?' (- which shows just how well he knows me.)
And I replied:
'No, Doug, I'm going to a teaparty.'
... which sounded quite sarcastic, but it was the truth!
An old young person like me isn't that much of a party person.