not my cup of tea

Part two of the series, as-yet-unnamed. A name will come (answers on a postcard). So, coffee: I don’t drink the stuff. Can’t stand it. Funny enough I like eating chocolate covered coffee beans (many years ago I worked at Thornton’s Chocolates, in a Galaxy far far away). The whole coffee shop thing, that whole culture, the whole ritual of the big coffee cup in the morning, the smell of it wafting across the office block from cubicle to cubicle, the whole ‘don’t talk to me till I’ve had my coffee’ joke boring people like to have on little signs at their desk, the whole roasted java or colombian blend or rain forest bark weed or whatever they call it, all of that just passed me by. I’m not in the club. I was I’m sure comprehensively and definitively put off by those awful Gold Blend adverts in the late 80s, the ones with that guy out of Buffy (who was later the Prime Minister on Little Britain). Well that and the taste. I am a cuppa tea guy. You can trust a cuppa tea (when I make it, anyhow). Don’t give me infusions and green tea and peach tea and rain forest bark weed tea, just regular PG tips style, ‘ave it, don’t mess about. English greasy spoon cafe. Barry’s Irish tea too, the best teabags. 

Funny enough though, I used to work at a coffee shop. At an Asda supermarket, even longer ago. Maybe that story will be a later entry in this series.