In The Agency café, Ironbridge, having a pot of tea and scone with jam and clotted cream. More generous with the cream than Darby's.
Had a chat with the proprietor (I wonder if I should say proprietress?) about the name of the café. It's meant to be a sort of Parisian café and is decorated with detective motifs. Apparently the name was originally going to be The Detective Agency but it was too long for the frontage so she settled on The Agency.
It's only been opened six months. Last time I was in the area was when I stayed in Much Wenlock a couple of years ago and the café was then a shop specialising in Christmas decorations and trinkets and was run by a friend of the current owner.
On one of my charity shop visits I came across a nice old hardback of George Eliot's Mill on the Floss. As I had spent a week in Nuneaton seeing references to and statues of her and because I've never read any of her work I picked it up.
But I don't find a lot of nineteenth century literature all that readable. So I subjected it to a test that my first girlfriend at uni always used: turn to page one hundred and if it makes you laugh or has a good sex scene then it's probably worth reading.
And on page one hundred I found:
Chapter X. Maggie Behaves Worse Than She Expected The startling object which thus made an epoch for uncle Pullet was no other than little Lucy, with one side of her person, from her small foot to her bonnet-crown, wet and discoloured with mud, holding out two tiny blackened hands, and making a very piteous face. To account for this unprecedented apparition in aunt Pullet’s parlour, we must return to the moment when the three children went to play out of doors, and the small demons who had taken possession of Maggie’s soul at an early period of the day had returned in all the greater force after a temporary absence. All the disagreeable recollections of the morning were thick upon her, when Tom, whose displeasure toward her had been considerably refreshed by her foolish trick of causing him to upset his cowslip wine, said, “Here, Lucy, you come along with me,” and walked off to the area where the toads were, as if there were no Maggie in existence. Seeing this, Maggie lingered at a distance, looking like a small Medusa with her snakes cropped.
"looking like a small Medusa with her snakes cropped." is so evocative!
So I bought it, just a pound.
It's a 1933 edition from Daily Express Publications.
The Pegasus on the title page is stamped on the front cover too.
The proprietress has just asked me if I'd like my teapot refilled! This used to be perfectly ordinary but now is so rare that just that one thing puts her and her café right at the head of the pack.
Definitely a place to return to and I'm glad I finally decided against just staying in today.
