250 Words: Fred’s Tea Shop

I will always remember this among the lighter memories from those sweaty days in
the jungles of Burma, along with the self-heating soup can exploding on me and the
look on my corporal’s face every morning when he took the nasty salt tablets. All
the little things that helped get us away from the memory of the Japs running at us
screaming, “Banzai,” with a look straight from hell in their eyes. A look we always
returned with bullets and bayonets. No doubt a similar look in our eyes.

Whenever anyone went out on patrol through the thick jungle one by one, nerves
on end, shirts drenched, rifles loaded and bayonets fixed and ready to pierce along
paths well trodden, eyes constantly looking into the green dazzle keenly looking for
anything not part of the pattern. The ears similar, filtering any noise for anything as
unnatural as us. And through villages hoping to meet with friendly Burmese and not
the retreating enemy with one up the spout and aimed at us. Our nerves always on
end, our fingers always itching: scared enough but not too much.

Anyway, whenever anyone returned from patrol they would always find Fred grinning
and ready with a brew: that little piece of home that was always with us. He would
be sitting down with his funny little cardboard sign reading, “Fred’s Tea Shop.” And
he would hand us a mug to refresh us. “Get that down you, make you feel better.
You’re home now, son.”

250 Words: One of my favourite things

They say simple things please simple minds and, well, this is a pretty simple thing.

Certainly a small and inconsequential thing.

But one that can bring pleasure on a daily basis: and at work too, invading the daily
grind delightfully.

As with most excitement at work this revolves around tea.

Whittards, I think it is, advise putting the milk into your cup before the tea because
the two will mix (or maybe it’s “fuse”) more easily in this order. (This can be seen
quite easily with the naked eye, actually).

However that way round misses out on a little bit of fun because, with a steady hand
and a little milk, beautiful clouds can be made.

If you get it right the milk will disappear without trace before reappearing as a
writhing mass of milky storm that rises and falls as it spreads out and consumes the
previously dark liquid.

An unsteady hand and a lot of milk still gives a nice effect but is clearly one gone
wrong: an almost complete whitewash sitting under a thin layer of black tea.

The best effect I’ve seen, though, was with a wide rimmed teacup in Birmingham.
I poured the milk into the centre of the cup and saw it return in several equally
spaced ‘jets’ around the edge like a fountain working in reverse (and encased within
another liquid).

Whatever the result, I always feel it a shame to dip in a teaspoon and bring these
little miracles to an end.