AROUND THE TEA TABLE

Auckland Star, Volume LIX, Issue 31, 7 February 1928, Page 12

AROUND THE TEA TABLE

MATTERS OF GENERAL INTEREST.

(By SHIRLEY.)

In the New Zealand railway bullets we are served, except, of course, when we are not because the train whistle sounds before we have reached the front row. In such Sydney refreshment places, however, there is ail alternative system. You can be "cafeteria," or a lady waiting to get her dole. A pot of tea, with grilled crops or steak, and bread comes to l/ti, if you decide to be <111 aristocrat. If you choose to pick up each item yourself, however, holding the trav to your chest with one hand, while piling it up with the other, you put down 1 /,"), saving—think of it—a whole penny! As a matter of fact you don't really, for the alternative way gives only a enp of tea, while a pot of tea goes with the other idea, which is quoted on the menu as worth fourpence. So now think out how much you pay for the privilege of waiting on yourself. You can imagine the official mind thinking out this scheme for the benefit of the public.

Blood and sand! That has been the motto of children's holiday life at Devon port and Cheltenham. I don't say that the beaches have quite resembled the sanded arena of the Christian martyrs, but certainly the broken made a good second to the lions of old. Parents heaved a sigh of relief when this rather Roman holiday was over, and have complained little that the hottest month of the twelve this year is not to be celebrated by a school half-day. There is -much commendation of one seaside school where there is some organisation to see that children do not rush out without their hats in playtime. A monitor stands at the door, and sends back the average small boy, who, as we know, can never endure to wear anything on his head, except, of I course, indoors. I

Putting aside the small boy, however, who is the same the world over, the' hatless brigade, it has been noticed' has never taken on in the Dominion. Conventionality .' An Australian says no, not conventionality, but instinct.* Our sun, he considers, burns more perilously than that of Australia. The Australian goes a delicate brown, while our favourite facial shade is a deep red. Certainly one has seen a good deal of it of late, inspiring visitors with the idea that our native population was perhaps not Maori, but Red Indian. Our atmosphere even is different in tone—our shade is a golden brown, while a pale blue is what dominates the horizon in the island continent.

Meanwhile, why is it that all the novels, poems and* essays one reads just now seem to begin either "Muriel looked disconsolately at the rain. Would it ne\er stop.' or 'Through the pitiless storm the two made their unhappy pilgrimage'; or "The glistening shower was on the maples, it dropped from the thatch, it threatened to come in between the doors." (Threatened? Pitiless.' Dreary.') "Then fell the rain, and the wan day went glooming down in wet and weariness." They didn't know what was pood for them, those Arthurian guys. I turn to the reviews for relief. "Question books are raining on us from all sides," begins some critic, who doesn't know when lie is being unkind. No, you can't get away from the non-existent rain by ignoring the weather forecast, which * tells us that sonic "disturbance" has passed us by. He calls it a disturbance! There was certain!}', I admit, a surprised chirping among the younger birds on Sunday, when a "shower," the unknown phenomenon of water, coming from above sent them to their older companions for elucidation. "Nothing to make a song about," was the evident response, and it proved there wasn't either.