To a tea.

My birthday may well be in October, but that didn't stop me from celebrating the fact that I am twenty-one (¼) years old with my mum this week. We had a busy few days of unbirthday treats. On Monday we bought Hummingbird cupcakes and knitting needles and ate tea at Leon and £1 popcorn at the cinema (yay). On Wednesday we went to Windsor to visit the Queen and eat frites at Cafe Rouge (yay).

However, the highlight of my week (nay, my life!) took place on Tuesday. We met up with my auntie at Marble Arch and walked through Hyde Park to see the Anish Kapoor installation. When we reached Kensington, we went to the Natural History Museum for a couple of hours and looked at dinosaurs bones and bottled creatures in the new Darwin centre.



At three we went to the Ritz, where we were ushered in by doormen in hats. After a visit to the fancy powder room (you used the wash cloths, you threw the wash cloths into the special wash cloth bin) we were seated and offered a wide selection of teas (including Ritz Royal English, Ceylon Orange Pekoe, Russian Caravan, Oolong Formosa and Moroccan Mint). I went for the unimaginative but tasty Passion Fruit and Orange ("a truly wonderful taste, apple, hibiscus, sweet orange peel blended with passion fruit and orange" according to the menu).



The traditional afternoon tea menu consisted of a variety of neatly sliced sandwiches (including cucumber), freshly baked scones with clotted cream and strawberry 'preserve' (you can't go around calling jam jam, in a place like the Ritz!) and an assortment of afternoon tea pastries, served on a silver tiered-stand. What is more, I was presented with a surprise birthday cake, simply because my auntie called me 'the birthday girl', when our waiter was within hearing-range. I wish I could eat at the Ritz every day.

In the evening we went to see War Horse at the New London Theatre and it was magnificent. I was on the edge of my seat throughout and for reasons that had nothing to do with the view-obscuring light fixture in front of me. I think that the biggest testament to the magic of the theatre in general and to War Horse in particular, is the fact that Joey - the eponymous 'horse' of the play and by all accounts an amalgamation of wood and fabric tassels - engendered more applause at the end of the show than the rest of the actors put together (including the hard-working puppeteers that brought Joey to life). The perfect end to a perfect twenty-first birthday.