There’s something rather special, perhaps even romantic about a chintzy afternoon tea.

It’s seen as a real treat, possibly a little bit naughty. I wonder if that could be why afternoon tea is on the rise among the younger generation.

It’s a way to celebrate an occasion without having to spend a fortune, although these days afternoon tea consists of more than slim and tiny cucumber sandwiches alongside equally thin pieces of cake.

The idea of afternoon tea caught on in 1840 when Anna Maria Russell the seventh Duchess of Bedford, one of Queen Victoria’s ladies-in-waiting, got a bit peckish between lunch and the dinner which wasn’t due to be served until 8pm.

To stave off the pangs of hunger a selection of sweet and savoury snacks was delivered to her room. What a good idea, other ladies thought, and began to follow suit.

By 1865 the Langham Hotel in London became the first hotel to put afternoon tea on the menu.

To celebrate my birthday this year (a special one) a fellow birthday girl and I treated ourselves to afternoon tea in a swanky restaurant, all very pleasant with enticing cakes and sandwiches, and something I’d never seen before, some dry ice set to make the tea look as though it was smoking for a while, all rather showy but part of the fun.

What was not part of the fun was the loud, unchintzy music. What would have been welcome were songs reflecting the romance of an afternoon treat: Everything stops for tea or better still Tea for Two. 

Vincent Youmans wrote Tea for Two in 1925, with words by Irving Caesar for the show No no Nanette.

I heard a wonderful version of it recently on Radio Three, an arrangement by Soviet composer Dmitri Shostakovic which turned the deceptively simple tune into a little orchestral masterpiece.

He did it for a bet, writing it in about 40 minutes, hardly enough time for your tea to get cold. He called it Tahiti Trot, and it became a big hit in Russia.

Which brings me back to the ghastly inappropriate music which blighted our special tea.

I asked the manager if he would turn it down so that we could hear ourselves daintily sip our tea. He said he would oblige but it might get loud again as it was set to vary the volume level depending on how many people  were in the restaurant; in other words the more customers there were the louder the music.

I pointed out politely that if you happen to be hard of hearing (which I think I might soon be) music which should be in the background actually becomes too intrusive and makes conversation difficult, especially when you wear a hearing aid.

There seems to be more of this wretched muzac about.

I asked the staff in a muzac-infected shop how they could stand the noise. They said they don’t hear it, which begs the question as to why it’s on in the first place.

I’m fighting back by no longer going to hairdressers or restaurants where the muzac is unbearably loud.

This isn’t just an age thing; there is a chain of restaurants with a non-music policy which is full of young customers and does well. There’s no more pleasant atmosphere than just the music of voices and the gentle slurping of a nice cup of tea. Shall I be mother?