Hi Trixie,
You asked about tea in the UK. Here’s one I remember:
Winter — early dark. Scottish Borders. We are all in from a day shooting on the hill, old friends and family. Maggie is never a big one for fancy sandwiches and such. She boils the kettle on the Aga and we move into the living room with cups of tea, satisfying chunks of delicious cake someone has carefully made. Lots of comfortable conversation — how the day went, what we’ve been doing since we last met, jokes only funny to us. Complete peace. Now, somehow, it’s become 6 o’clock, and we clear away and go for gin and tonic back by the fireside, to find Hugh fallen asleep, stretched out on the hearthrug. He came up on the night train. We tiptoe around him, trying not to clink the ice in our drinks.