Extolling the virtues of a cup of tea…

When I have shuffled off this mortal coil, am dead, have crossed over to the other side…and they perform the autopsy on my mortal remains, the pathologist in charge will be shocked to discover that 70% of my chemical make-up is tea. Not the eat it at 6pm kind of tea, but the drink it at all hours of the day and night kind of tea. Pekoe, plain and simple.

There is very little else in the way of worldly luxuries that I esteem more highly than this little cup of liquid heaven. I think it is the English in me that loves my cuppa with a passion verging on the religious. The simple act of brewing a pot of tea and pouring the liquid gold into a waiting cup to be sipped slowly in quiet meditation is enough to perk me up at the end of a painful day. So here it is, the secret of happiness according to Arianne:

Knock over a rubbish bin reversing in the car park at your children’s school? Make a pot of tea.

Have an argument with a stranger over who saw the parking space first? Make a pot of tea.

Miss your bus by 5 minutes and spend the next 55 minutes standing in the freezing cold waiting for the next one? Make a pot of tea.

Find out that the four page document that you have been editing for two hours was the six month old version of the document you thought you were working on? Make a pot of tea.

Find ten birthday party invitations (that you told your friend you would give to other friends to save her the postage)…a month after the party has already been and gone? Make a pot of tea before you call her to own up…and one for afterwards as well.

Get home from an hour and a half at the grocery store (involving two trips to the toilet at the other end of the mall because “I desperately need a poo, Mommy”) to discover that you still didn’t get toilet paper? Make a pot of tea.

Find out that your BFF has just told everyone you know that you had an extreme bikini wax that stopped short of your top lip by three centimeters? Make a pot of tea.

Give birth to a 4.9kg baby and redecorate your nether regions? Make a pot of tea.

Find out that your friend’s husband has gambled away everything they had? Make her a pot of tea (and cry with her).

Find out that you weren’t pregnant by mistake when you thought you were and realise that you had secretly been wishing that you were? Make a pot of tea.

Put  your foot in your mouth? Make a pot of tea.

Find one of those unwanted photographs in your mailbox, the ones of your car doing 15km/hr more than was legally legal? Make a pot of tea.

Tell your friend’s husband (entirely by accident) that she just bought a $2000.00 food processor? (Really, who doesn’t tell their husband that? She is going to kill me when I confess!) Make a pot of tea.

Run out of things to say? Make a pot of tea.

It’s simple really. In the time it takes to fill the kettle, put it on the stove to boil (I have a delicious fire-engine red stovetop kettle that ‘whistles’ like the five o’clock train- we call it the tea o’clock express), warm the pot, fill the milk jug and gather the cups, empty the warming water from the pot and deposit the leaves/bag and pour the steaming water on top…you have forgotten what it was that that was making you feel so jittery/upset/stressed. By the time you take the stress/thought up again, you have gained control of those raging emotions. I understand why the japanese make such a fuss of the tea ceremony, it’s therapeutic. In fact, I feel a little therapy coming on right now….how about you?