Tea at Bertram's

Jane Marple and I are having tea together at Bertram's Hotel this afternoon.

 We're drinking from my favorite deli cups. Not fine china, I'm sorry to say, but Miss Marple is a dear and doesn't mind in the slightest.

My first cup was white with sugar. My second was black with sugar. My third was just plain black tea, and it was perfect! Perhaps I'm British at last?
She showed me her breakfast tray they bring to her each morning in her room. Darling!

Well, now that I think about it, Jane's tray table was more like this one, with straight-down legs, and no raised edge on the side that faces her:

I do like this one better. No modern fold-up legs. Sigh!
I shall keep an eye out for one like this with legs and a sloped edge. I wonder what you call that? I'm so woefully uneducated about the finer things!

 Jane and I are knitting. She's making a complicated jumper for her nephew who paid for her fortnight at Bertram's. I'm just making a wooly scarf.
Adam is making bread in the middle of my adventure with Jane. Makes it hard to concentrate on Bertram's Hotel, with that aroma wafting through the house.

 He's proclaimed this loaf nearly perfect, a title he doles out rarely. It was baked inside a Dutch oven, preserving the humidity and producing a divine crust. We both hovered over the stove top as it cooled, our ears bent in to hear the crust crackling like a bowl of Rice Krispies. Wow!

 With a bit of butter slathered on, I can't tell you the wonder of crusty noise and deliciousness my mouth experienced.

Alright, back to Bertram's. I do believe that Canon Pennyfather is about to be murdered. I don't want to miss that!