I was raised on brick orange tea.
There were the 6am cups, plonked down by my Dad on the bedside table – a brash morning call, which I came to love.
My Mum made trays of afternoon tea and cake. In winter, we lit the fire and we slurped and gobbled like delighted piglets.
Tea is love. Brewed with patience. Stirred. Tea bags squeezed. A dash of milk. Aaaaaaaah.
I’m cutting out caffeine, however, ahead of our frozen embryo transfer in May. I’ve gone and over-googled again.
It’s day two off my favourite drug – I’m coping by drawing colourful tea sets!