Chapter 5: Sip, Savour, and Sparkle: Unwrapping the Magic of Christmas!

I’ve always loved hosting. In fact, I probably don’t do it enough. The over-40s crowd is perpetually “busy”, busy doing what, exactly, I have no idea. But there’s always a reason not to meet up, even after we swear (yet again) that we really must do this more often. Growing up, my mother had a grand dining table, dark wood, glossy, imposing, and a glass-fronted display cabinet filled with pristine fine China. She told us it was “for guests,” which, one would assume, implied she had plans to host. The crockery was stunning. Delicate floral patterns, gold-rimmed edges, the kind of plates that whispered, “Handle with reverence.” And yet, we were forbidden from even breathing too close to them.

Don’t get me wrong, she did host, but every time a guest crossed the threshold, one of our rowdier uncles would inevitably wave away the idea of bringing out the good stuff. “What if someone breaks it?” he’d say, clutching his beer like it was the actual fragile heirloom. And so, the China remained untouched. A lifetime’s worth of celebration potential collecting dust behind glass. When my mother passed on, not a single cup had known the thrill of tea, they sat there, untouched relics. Like artifacts from a kingdom that never threw a party.

Afternoon teas setting on my dining table

But me? I wanted to be different. I didn’t just want a dining table; I wanted moments around it. I wanted China that got used, chipped even, from clumsy joy. So, when I moved in with my boyfriend, the very first thing I bought (after the kettle, obviously) was a tea set. White with gold trim. Not quite Buckingham Palace, but perfectly regal for our modest kingdom. Then I threw my first tea party. Friends gathered, prosecco flowed, and I even arranged a mini bake-off. Two teams, one oven, chaos. You’d have thought Paul Hollywood himself was judging the way they threw down. My little table only sat six, so the following month I invited a different crew, no bake-off this time, but the conversation was just as rich as the desserts. That summer, I became obsessed. I scoured every charity shop like I was on a treasure hunt. Teacups, saucers, milk jugs, if it was blue, it was coming home with me. I was in those shops so often they probably thought I was doing inventory.

But let’s rewind a bit.

There was this guy. You will hear more about him later, his role in the story is persistent. But at this stage, all I saw was potential. The kind that makes you do things. Bold things. Possibly foolish things like cooking. Now, this wasn’t your standard student flat meal. This was me, deep in my “MasterChef” phase, having just discovered the culinary sorcery of packing rice into a ramekin, flipping it, and presenting it like some sort of edible pyramid scheme. There it sat: a perfect little starch monument. I plated it with flair grilled veg to the side, a drizzle of sauce with purpose. I had even wiped the plate rim. I was giving wife energy on a girlfriend budget.

So naturally, I invited him over. When he arrived, he looked at the plate, then at me, and said:“You clearly have too much time on your hands.”

Just like that. No “wow.” No “this looks amazing.” Not even a fake polite “lovely.” Just the kind of casual shade that makes you wonder if you should’ve just ordered pizza. And you know what, he wasn’t wrong. I did have time, and I had chosen to spend it crafting a carbohydrate tribute to someone who didn’t even pretend to appreciate it. But still, I couldn’t be mad. Because that moment taught me something: just because someone has potential doesn’t mean they deserve your jasmine rice artistry. But hey, we move.

Then came winter 2022.

I decided to host what I can only describe as the most exquisite afternoon tea I’d ever pulled off. This time, it wasn’t just friends or the unappreciative boy. It was my cake customers, my people, my community. I baked enough to feed a battalion, arranged everything with Pinterest-level precision, and welcomed them into my world. When they asked if I’d do it again, I smiled and said, “Sure!” which in my head translated to, “Who do I think I am?”

Fast forward to winter 2023.

I went all in. This time, I created a festive wellness afternoon tea for the amazing women of Hampshire. I booked a local community hall and turned it into a scene straight out of a Hallmark movie. I became a Facebook Marketplace regular. I hunted down every lonely Christmas decoration in the county, some I bought others I charmed into being gifted. The result was magic. Twinkling lights, sweet treats, mulled drinks, music that wrapped around you like a soft scarf. And my fiancé? He was there, camera in hand, documenting the whole thing like we were filming a Netflix special. From our tiny flat in lockdown to this, what a team we’ve become.

What I didn’t expect was a day filled with surprises, resilience, and the kind of warmth that only community can bring. After months of planning, the big day had finally arrived. I had a fantastic team, the menu was prepped, the decor ready to be unfurled, and our hearts bursting with excitement. But of course, life, ever the plot-twister, had other plans. We arrived at the venue only to find out it wouldn’t be available until midday. Midday. Precious hours, gone. For a fleeting moment, panic swept in. It had been so much simpler when I hosted in my own home. This? This felt like a logistical nightmare wearing a tinsel crown.

I could feel the anxiety creeping in but then I stopped and took a breath. I reminded myself of something I tell others often but rarely gift to myself: it’s okay when things don’t go as planned. This was, after all, a wellness event. So, I went home, drew a warm bath, and let go. I reminded myself that calm is a choice we can lean into, even when everything around us feels chaotic. And wouldn’t you know, it worked. With a renewed sense of peace, I returned to a team that had come alive with purpose. We moved like magic, hanging lights, arranging teacups, fluffing tablecloths, laying out pastries with the precision of pastry chefs and the heart of sisters. The space transformed. By the time our guests arrived, the room glowed with festive charm. We were still doing final touches, so we asked them kindly to wait in their cars for a few extra minutes.

They graciously did, with the sort of solidarity that only women who understand why this matters can offer. That one small moment set the tone: this wasn’t just a tea party. This was a communion of kindness. Red carpet at the door, our signature winter warmer mocktail in hand, laughter rolled in like music. The icebreaker kicked things off, turning shyness into shared belly laughs. Women who arrived as strangers were soon giggling like old friends. Then came the food, VeeNessTreats, born from my kitchen and passion, now plated with pride. The unexpected star of the spread? A ham and pimiento cheese sandwich, an experiment turned icon. They asked for the recipe like it was state secret.

As the afternoon unfolded, something magical happened. We turned the room into a catwalk. Women strutted, danced, and posed, not for approval, but for joy. With each cheer, you could feel something healing. Confidence bloomed. Insecurities melted. What began as play became power. Afterward, the laughter deepened into real talk, gentle, raw, beautiful conversations where walls fell, and women connected soul to soul. When the final guest left, I stood still in the quiet. The room echoed with warmth, crumbs, and love. I had done it. We had done it. VeeNessTreats had hosted its first public event, and it was unforgettable.

I’m endlessly grateful to Patience, whose presence filled the room with love before the first guest even arrived. To Chrissy, Sharon, and Olivier, who showed up not just as friends, but as family, rolling up their sleeves and carrying the vision with me. And to every incredible woman who walked through those doors—thank you. For trusting me. For laughing, crying, and showing up fully. Your feedback, your energy, your presence… you are the heartbeat of this community. You are what makes it thrive.

And now, for the twist in the tale, the plot line I couldn’t have scripted better myself. Remember the guy from the rice-in-a-ramekin era? The one who once said I had too much time on my hands? Well, he’s the very same person who told me where to hire the party ware for this event. Yes, him. Because somehow, he knows everything that goes on in Portsmouth. Who to call, where to go, which backroom stash has the vintage crockery I didn’t know I needed. Turns out, he’s a walking local directory and apparently, a chapter in this story I wasn’t quite done with. Funny how life brings people back when you least expect it, this time, with party platters instead of passive comments.

So, here we are. A tea set that’s used. A community that’s growing. A woman who once plated rice like a love letter, now writing her own happy ending, with cake, community, and a man who finally got the taste. Because it was never just about cake. It was always about the people around you.

With love,

VeeNess

Our wonderful guests group photo