Ladies Who Eat Cakes

On my regular route into town, I often pass the tiny shopfront of Stephen Jones, milliner. The windows are crammed with exotic and desirable hats, restrained or wild, always witty, and delightfully free of price tags. I spend one or five or ten minutes deciding which I would purchase, were I a wearer of hats. In another life, I hope to be such a person. I am, however, an eater of cakes, tea being my favourite repast, and cakes being a good deal more necessary than headgear in a mild but mournful climate. Nothing will cheer me up so effectively as an hour diverted from the daily grind in pursuit of a slice of Victoria sponge, coffee-and-walnut, scone and cream, or even a more fanciful patisserie. The combination of hat and cake is my idea of bliss, provided, of course, that it isn't raining.
This all might seem a little fey, but I would like to add that cake eating is not only for the dilettante. Just today I was reminded by Radio 4 that tea rooms were often used as meeting places by suffragettes. Darjeeling and dissent, rock buns and rocks thrown, etc.