I found this little snippet in today's Telegraph. Says that Lymington in Hampshire is one of the best places to live, ever.
I went to Lymington once with a couple of mates, on a dull rainy Saturday when we all had monster hangovers. So bad in fact that one of said friends literally fell out of the car as we pulled up in the car park and had to run to the nearest toilets to be very very sick.
We walked around in the gloom and drizzle for a bit, groaning and falling into each other, and then thought a nice cup of tea would help us recover. We went into a tea shop, or more likely a Tea Shoppe, on the high street, took a table and waited.
And waited. And fucking waited.
We sat there for over an hour, vainly trying to catch the attention of someone, anyone, who could bring us some tea. And a bun maybe.
Eventually, after we'd dried off and read all their papers, we left, tealess and grumpy.
I think the staff either thought we'd do a runner after we'd had all their tea and buns, or that we might turn nasty if we got some sugar into us.
So. Lymington. No.