The babel of Midlands accents and dialects is a joy to behold and long may they last. I grew up on the edge of the Black Country and within ten miles you could hear distinct accents. On the broadest scale some were near incomprehensible such as the cold, abrupt, proper Brummie or the much happier Curly Wyrley accent which sounds like a blackbird caught in netting. Over to the East the vowels flatten out and you can speak through yer nose without any fluctuation in the upper lip. Try speaking without moving your lips and you getting toward Derbyshire and Notts. I have never understood why standard English is supposed to originate from Leicester but maybe its the lack of any effort that makes it admirable. Cannock is exhausting.
Going mashin' is Notts for making tea and we found a proper caff in the unlikely surroundings of glorious Melbourne. This village is middle England and the gentrified options for lunch hint at the type of visitor they want there. Genteel and quaint, Melbourne's big draw is its hall and gardens. Open in August this country pile is perfect for a sedate day out admiring the dahlias. One day I will be happy to explore the beautiful gardens of middle England which are so popular as they deliver happiness and a great cup of tea for the silver bimbler. I am deferring this eventuality knowing I will embrace it with Titchmarsh enthusiasm. Much like my decision to invest in an electric bike it is only a matter of time.
Which makes the 'Welcome Cafe' a bit of an oddity. However, the charm is soon apparent. It is obviously a bit of hub for the village and I would eat lunch there every day if I retired to this armchair of England. It seems like a cafe stuck in a time-warp from the 'golden' days of yore which is now so retro it is also appealing to day visitors. I feel a little harsh as it is a family enterprise and the photos show the pride they have in running this successful establishment, perhaps against the odds stacked around them by the multiple gentrified chrome and Prosecco options in the village. But who wants thin crust pizza fired in a wood oven taken lightly in an Italianate garden when you can have liver and onions with a pudding for £4? I had the Moussaka and there was a gammon and gravy option ?! There were other possibilities but I got the sense that going off specials was an unwritten no no. My daughter's wish for baked potato and beans was met with withering contempt and a 30 minute wait. 'We'll have to cook that.' My daughter is not a gammon and gravy girl and although Dad was in 70's heaven she was not impressed by the so non retro its retro feel.
The mains are cooked in batches and ready to go, you get what you are given and when it is gone it's gone. In fact the 'Welcome Cafe' is a bit of an oxymoron and the jacket potato crisis offered me the chance to observe a phalanx of wrong footed customers wobble as they ordered. One plucky customer got a withering stare as she cooed, 'ooh its so authentic.' As she was given short shrift she retreated and left her husband to finish the transaction, 'I'll just save a seat.' It reminded me of Armistead Maupin's 'Tales of the City' where locals visit a Chinese restaurant in San Francisco to be abused by the waiting staff or watch unsuspecting tourists be humiliated such as the woman who did not realise there was no sink in the bathroom, 'lady go wash your hands!'
This throwback to the golden age of England where you are served under duress and the busy lunchtime rush is a real pain in the arse for the proprietor tickled me. The staff clearly thought 'I'm not getting paid for this.' We all hanker for the village shop for local people that never stocked anything useful and its good to see this attitude in hearty good health in Melbourne, it was certainly excellent value for people watching alone. I wonder what the staff would make of the pace of ALDI tills.
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