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Royal Sandwiches, Palace of Holyrood, Edinburgh, By Special Guest correspondent, Baloney Schraggie

Husband and I were invited to have Tea with the Queen. The annual Garden Party is held for all those who have contributed to Scottish culture, and husband has most certainly done that recently. I accompanied as a doting spouse. It was my finest hour. I even wore clean underwear and everything. 

The party is held in the manicured grounds of the Palace of Holyrood, the Queen’s Edinburgh Residence and the gardens are framed by an ancient ruined Abbey and the even more ancient hill of Arthur’s Seat. On arrival, we sauntered in and amongst the invited guests, watching Queenie and Phillip bestow royal glances to simpering Royalists. We got bored and wandered off to the refreshment tent. 

We’d been told the tea is the best cup of tea you’ll ever have. It wasn’t. Luke warm and anaemic, it felt like a Cup Of Tea’s dying, pathetic, younger sibling, so I moved on to other items on the menu - cold mocha drinks, passionfruit tarts, eclairs, raspberry topped cakes, elderflower cordial, and then on to the sandwiches. We should have had the sandwiches first, but I think we were going the wrong way, but, no matter, because there - THERE! - in the shaded tent, with a respectful hum quivering around me, I found royalty, between two slices of bread. 

Served on square, thin enamel plates, blushed eggshell blue and delicate, sat a collection of rectangular slices made of white bread. The loaf was soft, soft, soft and white - white as baby flesh and the crusts had been off (of course) and a sliver of greens shimmered within the lines of white. 

Mint and Cucumber.

Touching them, I could only think of ballet dancers - thin, frail looking things, but strong inside. The flavour was certain, but tame: it had an aristocratic strength, the mint edging in with the lightly salted butter, all wrapped together with the subtlety of the cucumber. And, on that hot hot day, with pomp and circumstance oozing like sweat through the woollen socks of every hairy, kilted man, the freshness of those mint and cucumber sandwiches were a godsend. 

I don’t remember seeing the Queen. I saw the Royal Archers, with their green leather cloaks, sweating in the sun. I saw the classless, tacky daughters of bankers wearing fake tans, their 8 inch heels sinking into the lawn. And I saw the tray of the Mint and Cucumber sandwiches move around the gardens by immaculately postured hired help. To me, that was royalty enough.


Please note:
"All photographic and recording devices - including camera-enabled mobile phones - are not permitted" Hence no photographic evidence of said cuc sandwiches.

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