Put t' kettle on

As I wrap my cold fingers around another mug of tea, I wince at the sharp shot of warmth it gives my icy hands. Clasping it tighter, I find that I have brought the mug up to my face, and without thinking, I half close my eyes and breathe in the gently curling scented steam.
I know that the tea is warm, my fingers are tingling proof, but I still give a tentative sip and am rewarded with a stingingly hot drop of liquid. I swallow instantly. Having got beyond that first mouthful it is easier but no less searing to drink more.

There is something ritualistic about the making and brewing and drinking of tea.

It is the first thing I do when I get home from dropping the boys off at school. I open the house, put on the kettle, then go out, feed the hens, check their water, look for eggs then a quick walk around the garden to see how things are faring - back to the house, ready, oh so ready, for a mug of tea.

Sometimes I make a brew with indecent haste - the need outweighs the ceremony. There is no finesse - the kettle is filled and slapped on, any (hopefully clean) mug is grasped and a tea bag tossed in, milk - got to have milk (not cream and not black!) and then a hard stare and impatient finger tap as I wait for the kettle to reach the boil. The still bubbling water is sloshed into the mug, followed quite crudely by the milk, a quick stir and almost with self harming speed I throw the searing hot liquid into my mouth - bliss mixed with 3rd degree burns shortly occurs.

Other times, I select a mug to go with my mood -

the one that looks like a knitted aran jumper for when I am crocheting or crafting, 

the celestial golden sun  mug, his beaming face benignly smiling from a sparkling blue sky 

for when I am feeling in my earth mother mode,

or the HUGE mug that wears plant inspired  puns and twirly flowers - 

this one I use for herb teas on a summery day, 

usually accompanied by an equally flowery dress, sun hat and bare feet.

We do have a selection of other mugs, smaller, daintier and girlier type, but they usually linger at the back of the cupboard ignored until visitors come .

Tea drinking is very social, you can drink it with friends or drink with toast, either or both - I'm not bothered.
It can be sipped daintily with posh friends or glugged thirstily with workmen. Tea can be served to friends and to strangers. It is not often turned down and nearly always welcomed.

Friends come around and I flick the kettle on, mugs clunk gently together as I reach for them . 

Sometimes a teapot is selected, a tea cosy too. 

Sometimes I just hand out ready filled mugs - I know who has sugar and who doesn't.

I did, before turning to the tea-side, drink coffee with the same infatuation. Only this passion was rewarded by sleepless nights, tremors and palpations. I used to joke about being 'on the ceiling' and look forward to the extreme first morning zing a strong mug of coffee would bring. Talk about cold turkey and withdrawal symptoms when I walked away from that destructive affair. 

Tea is a soother when a throat is sore, a comforter when work has got me down. Tea is company when I am alone and good in company too. Tea is warming after a cold day's walking and it is cooling on a hot summer's day. Tea can be drunk sweet or strong, it can be taken  black or milky, it can be sipped weak and scented or full of malty flavour. It can be anything to anyone.

I must have an addictive nature - I chain drink tea

..... (a scraping of a chair being pushed back is heard)...

erhem, my name is Hawthorn....I have a confession to make

I am a tea drinker.....

but no, I don't need help, 

just directions to the kettle will do 

thankyouverymuch!