I am in the heady throes of a wonderfully satisfying love affair. And I have it bad. I can't function unless I've had some in the morning. I want it straight after lunch. It's the first thing I think of when I get home in the evenings. I've even woken up in the middle of the night because I just need it so badly.
Of course pessimistic killjoys and therapists (one and the same?) would say it doesn't count because it's not actually with a person. You see, I'm in love with tea. I've heard that it happens to us all but I never really believed it would happen to me. Having been a confirmed coffee drinker since the age of seven, I thought I was safe. Alas, love was up to its usual tricks and smacked me broadside when I least expected it. Love has been known to smack me unexpectedly and inconveniently with occasionally undesirable consequences, but it's precisely because tea is so darn convenient that this whole lovely affair is so darn perfect.
I'm so head over heels that I can't refrain from blatantly parading my relationship in front of my friends. "Cup of tea?", "fancy a cuppa?", "another tea?", "tea", "tea", "tea","tea", "tea", "tea" is all I seem to say these days. (It's been pointed out to me that this may be because I write everything else in this blog so have nothing new to say. I'm not convinced.)
This is where it gets a bit embarrassing, but I actually start craving an armchair and a nice cup of tea when I am out drinking alcohol in bars. Last night I was in Le Monde (which is, incidentally, full of lovely decor and shallow beautiful people, rendering it utterly soul-less) and my favourite part of the night was when the waitress brought me some tea; in a lovely china teapot. As soon as I'd had it, I just wanted more - and, and this is the great part, unlike other things in life, you don't have to "give it a few hours" before it's ready to go again. Oh the tea never stops.
I used to think people who said tea was what they craved when they were really thirsty were off their heads, but now I get it. I wake up with actual tea thirsts. A few people have told me that the moment they found themselves craving tea in a pub/bar was their 'Oh my God, I'm my mother' moment. For me, that happened a few years ago when I caught myself tucking into the sweets I'd just bought along with my petrol before I'd even shut the car door or put on my seatbelt, and then proceeding to drive with only my right hand on the wheel while the left one made the continual journey from bag to mouth and back again.
I really hope my relationship with tea does not reflect that of my mother's. My mum and tea used to love each other deeply, but sadly (and weirdly) she ditched it for the (in-vogue) hot water thing. An affair which, much to my perennial dismay, seems likely to go the distance.
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2 comments:
It’s a slippery slope, m’dear. Just pray you don’t plummet as far as I have, to the point where any holiday abroad is dominated by the (always fruitless) quest to find a decent brew. Why doesn’t anyone know how to make a good cup of tea like the British? Can you believe they have Darjeeling for breakfast in Germany? What kind of a brew is that to serve up in the morning? And you never get milk. In fact, if you ask for milk with your tea in France (after staring at you as if you’ve just landed from Mars) they boil it up all frothy like a cappuccino – yeuch! And no-one has ever heard of a teapot – incredible. Just remember to pack a good old box of Tetley teabags for emergency purposes whenever you leave the country.
OK, I think I’d better stop here – do you see what I mean?!
The French know fine well what a bloody cup of tea is. They are just being deliberately obstinate. Frothy milk indeed! As for the Darjeeling swigging Germans, I'd let it slide - on the condition that they renounced the Hof and all his evil ways.
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