I have a terrible confession to make. One that jeopardises the very essence of my being. In fact I’m not one hundred percent sure that I’m willing to share this shocking revelation with you, my blog loving readership, although I have in fact alluded to it in an earlier blog – I was just hoping that the situation might resolve itself.
So perhaps I won’t tell you after all.
I do find it quite embarrassing.
Pardon?
Oh, you want to hear it.
Are you sure?
Well I agree I have ‘dangled the carrot’ as you so eloquently put it. Do stop giggling at the back, madam.
I suppose you’re right and after all I can’t unsay it now, can I?
I’ve gone a bit too far.
Okay, here goes.
Perhaps you should sit down.
Ready?
No no, I’m not prevaricating – again.
Here goes.
Ahem.
Sorry, just clearing my throat.
I don’t like tea.
There you have it.
What?
You were expecting something a bit more risqué?
Well I apologise, but it concerns me.
Greatly.
After all it goes to the very root of my ‘Englishness.’
As a native of Shakespeare’s sceptred isle I should probably be swimming in the stuff every day before breakfast. As a Brit I’m supposed to like it.
And I used to.
Until they ripped out my still beating heart and replumbed it before thrusting it back and stapling up my chest cavity.
Sorry madam? Yes, you go and have a lie down. I’ll try not to be so graphic in future.
Anyway – perhaps it was something to do with the anaesthetic.
Put me right off. I can’t even bear the thought of drinking a brew now.
Proper tea of course.
By ‘proper‘ I mean the stuff that you might call breakfast tea, builders tea or something like that. Tea to put hair on your chest madam.
Tea to stand your spoon up in.
Tea as thick as custard.
Not that wishy washy tea that the Queen no doubt gets served on a daily basis. I’ll bet a pound to a penny that Madge would like nothing better than to wrap her regal mitts around a nice steaming mug of good old Tetley instead of that crappy green gunk she’s given.
Tea worth fighting our former colonial territories over.
Good old British tea – made in India, or China.
And that brings me back to my point.
If I no longer like tea, am I no longer a dyed in the wool Englishman?
Don’t get me wrong, if there’s a game of cricket going on I’m all for lounging around by the boundary rope and applauding politely when a wicket is taken or the bowler is struck for six.
I can deride Johnny Foreigner with the best of them.
I know the main verse of the National Anthem and am quite comfortable with the last verse having something to do with giving those damned rebellious Scots a good crushing.
I do my best to keep my upper lip as rigid and untrembly as possible.
I’ve never tried, but I have no doubt that I could probably pole a punt with the best of them.
Wha..? No madam, with a ‘P.’
I live here, in Blake’s Jerusalem in the heart of the country that gave industrialisation to the world, the land that Constable and Turner painted, that Dickens wrote about in the language spoken by most of the planet.
But I now don’t like tea.
I feel like a traitor.
Perhaps they’ll drag me to The Tower, lop off my worthless head and mount it on a pike outside Westminster Palace as a warning to others not to be so fickle.
Or suspend me upside down over a vat of steaming Typhoo and dunk me like an unworthy digestive.
I’m supposed to go to the States in a couple of weeks, after this shocking admission I’ll be surprised if they let me back into the country of my birth.
I’ll be forced to live a life in exile in some coffee growing republic.
It’s been nice knowing you.
My Irish Aunt used to serve tea that had been brewed on the Aga. It was brutal and could turn your stomach in an instant. I used to pour only half a cup and then fill the rest with hot water. “What d’you want to drink that for? That’s just maiden’s water!” Was my Aunt’s comment on that.
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Reblogged this on Dream Big, Dream Often.
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Thanks for the reblog – again 😀
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😋😋. You are welcome!
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I love this!
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Thank you.
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And what exactly is the meaning of “proper” in the UK?
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Depends who you ask I guess. Red hot & so strong it has its own muscles I’d say 😀
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That was a brave confession – I’m sure if you put lots of milk in your coffee you can fool people into thinking you’re drinking tea for a good number of years yet!
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Actually, I have to confess that I’ve solved the problem. I now just drink beer all day – how English is that? 😀
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As I sit here, supping my cuppa, I wonder… “How can you call yourself English? Not like tea??” I actually feel sorry for you… losing the love of such a wonderful brew!
(I HAVE to like it… Born in England, Of Indian parents who grew up in Kenya…. three nations with a total commitment to tea… they’d have to exile me from the country as well as the family if I decided I didn’t like it!)
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I’m glad you appreciate my dilemma, Ritu 😀
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Lol!
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I have split tea drinking between tea and coffee. Before midday, coffee, after midday until 7pm, tea, after 7pm, coffee. After 9pm, wine. Until morning or oblivion, whichever comes first..
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I can relate. I am an Irish person with no fondness for potatoes. It gets lots of attention! Followed the blog😊
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Not to make light of your heart felt confession but that is too funny! Enjoy your time here in America where you will be free to enjoy any beverage of choice without anyone caring.
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Glad you liked it. I dare say there may be a few blogs on our trip. In fact I already have one in mind… 😀
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This is so great! In fact, I followed you
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So glad you liked it 😀
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Too funny! I hope you enjoy your time in the states and I hope they let you back into your country. If not we’ve got plenty of room in the US of A. 😉
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*puts up paw* – I’m the same…I’m English and I don’t like tea either. But I don’t like milk, and tea without milk is like drinking sandpaper juice. Dry and scratchy. I don’t see the hype about it. English cider though, that’s a true source of national pride. Cheers!
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Funny! You had me hooked from the first line. Enough already with the Scot-chrushing though 😂.
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Sorry – I really shouldn’t bash the Scots with a name like Robertson, should I 😀
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No!! You might have cause to be up here one day. 😂
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Haha love this. I might have to join you then. My confessions are worse brace yourself:
I don’t like tea. I don’t know the words really to the National Anthem (wouldn’t sing them anyway) and I think we should retire the Royals. Phew I feel better now for getting that off my chest!
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Retire the royals! Well I suppose at least we wouldn’t have to fight through the crowds on the way to the Bash 😃
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I don’t think we’ll kick you out of the country…as long as you can still make a good cuppa for your friends when needed…
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But making tea is also such a chore – do you warm the pot, make it in the mug, say ‘ come on me Old China’ – it’s all so confusing 😀
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But worth it for the friends that you warm up along with the tea!!
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