Fatal curiosity

My cousin is home from the War on Terror. I walked into my mum’s and he was sitting on the sofa, drinking tea.

My sister and I berated him for not bringing his gun with him, so we could shoot annoying tourists.

I wanted to ask him if he’d shot anyone, but I didn’t. Well, it’s only in Agatha Christie that one discusses killing over a nice cup of tea.

Of Kettle Chips and Caffeine

The lovely Rilly Super suggested that blogging may have been my displacement activity after I stopped smoking; alas, this was not the case. Blogging, I believe, has no calories. Kettle Chips, on the other hand, have loads. Especially when the Co-op is selling the large packets at two-for-one. Kettle Chips, along with Cornish pasties, lemon sherbets and chocolate limes were my oral substitutes for smoking and saw the speedy displacement of an extra stone – mostly on to my hips.

Like my previous half-hearted attempts to stop smoking, I’ve had a few vague stabs at shedding the excess weight. I’ve managed to get rid of a measly 4lbs, but no more. I am too vain and too mean to buy the next size up in clothes and I am getting rather bored with items straining at the seams.

So, I have bought a diet book. As well as cutting out nice things to eat, it commands that I banish all caffeine for at least a month. For someone who drinks strong black coffee and slurps tea throughout the day, this is a cruel commandment. The book suggests alternatives such as Rooiboos tea, which is not awfully pleasant, and dandelion coffee. I mean, dandelion coffee? I have instead substituted decaff Gold Blend and Tetley.

However, no one told me about the agony of caffeine withdrawal. Apparently my headache is caused by blood rushing to my head as the vessels contract due to the lack of caffeine. I fail to see how this is a good thing. It seems the pains in my back could be due to the same reason … either that, or it’s my age …

A nice cup of tea

My obsessions and addictions have varying life spans. The horsy one has lasted more than three decades; the smoking one went on for 18 years before I beat it; the David Bowie one even longer and is still going strong; the Johnny Depp one is now into its second decade while the Toby Stephens-as-Mr Rochester one is a mere whippersnapper.

My latest obsession is in its infancy and I hope to stamp it out before it manages to take root. The problem is, I have the taste for it but not the means to satisfy my desire.

It’s all the fault of my colleague who has just returned from a Mediterranean cruise. He and I have a cup of Earl Grey at 10am every morning; you can set your watch by his tea-making timetable. His holiday gift to me was a handful of individually packaged Earl Grey teabags, pilfered from the ship.

Initially the maker’s name – Bigelow – caused me great hilarity. In my juvenile fashion, I thought this moniker more suited to a hirsute actor of the Dirk Diggler persuasion than a purveyor of fine teas. I was also rather sniffy that he had brought me an Americanised version of a quintessentially English tea. I had always lumped the French and Americans together when it came to hot beverages: stick to the coffee.

I opened the little envelope on which there was written a lovely exhortation to enjoy “this delicately scented aristocratic blend”, signed by David and Eunice Bigelow. The first mark in its favour was the fact it had a string: I love teabags with strings as I usually fish them out of the cup with my fingers. Then the tea itself. Well, what can I say? Absolutely, totally, gorgeously divine.

Google showed no UK sellers. An email to David and Eunice confirmed this to be the case. Even with the strong pound, it will cost £25 to have a supply delivered. I only have one Bigelow Earl Grey teabag left. I am at my wits’ end …