When, at 3.30pm sharp, one's 'man' declares that 'Tea is served', every Englishman on the planet will drop whatever he is doing, and devote half an hour to drinking his preferred 'cuppa', accompanied by a couple of McVities dark Chocolate Digestives, or a slice of Battenberg.
Loin-cloth wearing 'bearers', on the slippery slopes of the Himalayas, carry boxes of biscuits so that the Sahib can take Tea at that prescribed moment. If the snow is not too deep they might also fight their way through to deliver his Cucumber sandwiches.
Especially trained Sherpas can even be employed to ensure delivery of Lemon Drizzle Cake; but these men are rare (and expensive). Only the privileged can guarantee such delicacies.
Luckily my hearing is 20/20, and from Haddock's I can always hear Lady M's distant voice declaring that it's Tea Time (we don't have a 'man'), and without any disastrous obstacle to inhibit her, there is often that famous Lemon Drizzle Cake to accompany my two afternoon cups of Lapsang.
Lucky is he, or she, to be English at 3.30pm, whether they be in an Igloo in Manhattan, or a Teepee in Barnsley. A subject of Her Majesty should never be denied his or her daily cup of Tea.