I realised something during the holidays. I drink more tea when I am home than when I am in my flat in Bristol. Why? Well, possibly because the cups at home are nicer or because those cups have stories behind them. They have history. The cups I have are bland white things. They were bought to meet the minimum kitchen utensils limit. They are handy and of course required, but somehow, not comforting.
I wonder what would happen if I brought the cups from home to my place? Would I be able to enjoy a ‘cup of tea’ and not just the ‘tea’?
Maybe in a few years time my cups will have stories to tell. For now I’ll just have my tea/milk/coffee in them and I’m sure I’ll warm to the cups gradually.
I wonder what would happen if I brought the cups from home to my place? Would I be able to enjoy a ‘cup of tea’ and not just the ‘tea’?
Maybe in a few years time my cups will have stories to tell. For now I’ll just have my tea/milk/coffee in them and I’m sure I’ll warm to the cups gradually.
