afternoon tea

It's a little odd that having spent years protesting that I hate tea, that it's a horrible drink and tastes funny, that only coffee will do; I have been drinking a remarkable amount of tea in the last two weeks.

It all started on the day I got my hair cut (still loving it, I have to say). All dull with hangover, for some reason tea was the first thing that popped into my head when the girl, who was to wash my hair, asked me what I'd like to drink. I drank it, and looked about, and realised that the bright white lights didn't seem so bright, and I perked up. So much so that I had another cup shortly afterwards.

Since then I haven't looked back. Lyndsey is especially happy about this, as it means we can now drink tea together. Such a change from wine or coffee which is indeed our staple diet (with the occassional cocktail when the desire strikes us). In fact, I'm drinking a lovely cup of Twinings as I type. Delicious.

I now have lovely visions of summer afternoons spent in a hammock, or lounging on grass, picking at home made scones with whipped cream and strawberry jam, sipping from freshly made tea. Proper tea at that, in a tea pot, loose and dancing.

I really am becoming rather fond of the stuff. On the last couple of evenings, at the end of last week, before dashing off to theatre, or falling asleep at Katharine's dinner party (at the table, no less), it was tea that I grabbed in haste. I took a few precious moments to sup it, before dashing off, hither and tither, tripping in heels or pouting with lippy. I admit, I am a convert. I take all those remarks I made, about horrible taste, back. Let me make scones, I say, and all will be well in the world. And more tea!