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 …
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 …
