Tuesday, 19 August 2014

My tea and I

I’m addicted to tea. I didn't think it would happen this way. After holding out for so long while living in a country of tea drinkers it took moving to Dubai to plant the seed of tea addiction in me. I was pulled in by the subtle allure; a friends place, and interesting mug, the beckoning scent of tea making its way through the air. Permeating the room. Initially whispering, then announcing, then shouting, DRINK ME!

I still resisted through the rest of my time in Dubai. The allure of the beverage was undeniable but somehow nothing my kitchen cupboards had the power to quite hit the spot and so instead of becoming a fully fledged obsession, my little seed of addiction simply simmered, biding its time until a more opportune moment should present itself.

Then we moved back to Scotland and on one particularly cool summers day I walked into a shop only to have my life changed. Because there it sat. There sat the little box of Earl Grey which would soon reek havoc upon my mind. The battle was brief. The box would be mine and up to the counter we waltzed.

The end was within sight. We weren’t quite there yet but it was close. I could smell it.

The next few days passed in tense anticipation. The tea was there, it was within my reach but the moment never seemed quite right. This was a momentous tea and deserved just the right setting. I eventually relented and made the first cup. It was a blissful moment. I savoured the familiar and comforting scent. But my journey was not yet complete. There was one last hurdle. My need for occasion. Due to this the tea still made only rare appearances in my life.

Strangely enough it took the development of another ritual to solidify that of my tea drinking. I was experimenting with a breakfast muffin recipe which simply lent itself so exceptionally to being accompanied by tea that the two soon became a stable of my morning routine. But he muffins soon ran out and the eventuality of breakfasts not compatible with the accompaniment of tea came round and yet my cup stayed. Many a time while I still tried to deny my addiction did I sit down to a breakfast without my cup. But this was to no avail since I never lasted more than three mouthfuls before I had to get up and boil that kettle. I now have to admit that I am well and truly addicted.

And now when the kettle has quietened and the milk has been poured I am left with a new true friend. My pale but feisty little cup of tea.

My cup

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