Tea is life

Some of my earliest memories are of tea. I’ve been drinking it for as long as I can remember.

Tiny toddler hands hugging a cup that seemed so big back then, watching the adults boil water, warm the teapot and get the teabags from their familiar spot in the high cupboard.

Milk always had to be added last of course.

The British Cuppa has a ceremony all of its own, nothing like the Japanese one but with its own unspoken rules and regulations.

One lump or two?

Weak or so strong that a builder would be proud.

In a cup or a mug so large it takes two hands to lift it.

The variations are as many as the accents of the British Isles.

I now take mine very simply: no milk or sugar, just water and a teabag.

I’m not fussy about the brand but the water has to be boiling.

The teabag left in just long enough so that the water turns the right shade of brown.

All of this is to say that the only constant in the morning is tea.

Nothing else is going to get me out of bed at 5:40am.

Nothing.

Sometimes I even forget to put on my glasses in my hurry to get that first sip and then wonder why the world is even more morning-fuzzy than usual.

That first sip helps me forget that I have to be awake at a ridiculous time in the morning.

The second one reminds me that there is reason to keep going and to quote Belle and Sebastian that. “life is good and ‘it’s always worth living at least for a while’”

The third? Just perfect.

Tea is life.