The British are a nation of tea drinkers. FACT. I have never seen so many cups of tea drunk in my life. Everywhere you go, anyone you meet is an excuse for a cuppa. After every social event I have ever attended in the last eleven years of living in the UK, people spill out of the event looking like some shipwrecked sailor who has drunk nothing but seawater and his own urine for the past six weeks. They are parched. They are gasping for a cup of tea.
It’s not like they didn’t just have one an hour ago.
They need one NOW.
I have never been a tea drinker. Not even growing up in the American South where ice-tea was practically a religion. Remember sun tea? My Mum used to make a gallon of that at a time.
I have never understood the appeal as tea always taste like drinking grass. Like the sort of mud pie, twigs and leaves in a cup of water from the garden hose crap you made as a child. Undrinkable.
But fruit tea turned me around. I discovered I loved fruit tea. Now I could have a drink with others and be sociable. But mostly I preferred my fruit tea cold. I would brew up a big ole pot and let it cool over night, sweeten with stevia and squeeze in some lemon and it was wonderfully refreshing.
Our flat is rather cold.
I am freezing.
It was wet.
I was warm.
I was dry.
Buy me my own teapot.
I saw it and immediately said, “Is there a children’s story with a spotted elephant?”
“Are you thinking of Elmer?” Spiderman replied.
No. I was not thinking of Elmer. Duh!!! Those aren't spots!
That was it. I had to have it. It was £3.99 and that was good enough for me.