The writing classes are on a break for the summer holiday; but we have become friends, so we arranged to meet for coffee and scones. We met at the independent tearoom upstairs in the last remaining Victorian arcade in our town. It’s tucked away and even locals seem largely unaware of this hidden asset. It’s just up the stairs beyond the tweeting bookshop @imaginedthings.
We set up the meeting on whatsapp. I confidently suggested the venue and commented on the availability of scones. Scone, to rhyme with gone. One by one the group arrived. We each ordered, selecting coffee or tea, and making our choice of strawberry and elderflower or sultana scone; with butter or with cream and jam. So many decisions to make.
It soon transpired that there was a hot topic of debate, knocking even Brexit off the agenda for a while. At least one in our midst, Cornish by origin, was not here for the scones at all. She was ordering a scone, to rhyme with own. We called upon the owner to arbitrate. His wife had made the scones on the premises, so surely he would have some expertise in the matter of pronunciation. He did, unequivocally, scone (as in gone). By the time we needed to pay, each listing our purchases to pay off our debts, we were all pronouncing that we had eaten scones. Excellent scones, there was no debate about that.
It was a relaxed morning, no writing done but plenty of book choices shared. The group began as individuals signing up to a class; but there has been a real bonding over the year. We have really learned to laugh together. We’ll be back for more scones before term starts in September.