Scary stories from a lovely place
The white van roars up the driveway to my doorstep. A kind man bolts the stairs, contends the toddler gate, implores me to sign, hands over a parcel and bids me good day. He is gone as quickly as he came. Australia Post really are extraordinarily efficient.
These days I do a lot of my shopping on the internet. Ebay is my usual store, but I did have one brief foray into online grocery shopping. And on Monday morning I ordered from the T2 website, and this morning my tea arrived.
It arrived in a spooky black padded post bag, which then revealed a sturdy black box. Inside my tea and small tea cup were snugly packed with black tissue paper. I tell you, someone is making a packet out of T2, but I doubt it’s the people who actually grow the tea.
In my current state of distemper and sleep deprivation I am lingering on any nice little thing I can find in the day. This morning’s delivery – 250g of Sydney breakfast (black tea and bergamot flavour, as opposed to essence which is Earl Grey), 100g of Perth breakfast (black tea, bergamot and vanilla) and 100g Brisbane Breakfast (black tea and mango) – is going to help me get through many a long day. It was a hefty purchase, just over $60 worth, because that got me free delivery. But tea is so much more than just a beverage for me. It’s a drug, an antidote, a tonic if you will.
People are pretty into tea these days. And all the cool tea accessories make it all the more appealing to the white person dreaming of a more oriental existence. I love it for it’s social element. Back in the good old days in Jozi I drank many a cup out of real tea cups with various visitors. After Silas was born and I became a homebody, tea drinking with a guest became my favourite way to wile away the day. Now my tea comrades are a little more sparse. I’m trying to build up my network. A friend came over last week with her little entourage, and that was lovely, though unfortunately she drank coffee.
I’m working at developing a little tea drinker in Silas. His tipple is Rooibos, that famously stinky South African tea. When he was much littler he wasn’t too interested in drinking water, so I went from milk to Rooibos (totally the wrong thing to do I know). He drank bottles of it (again wrong, not in a cup). Now he drinks it happily (water too – I didn’t mess him up) with a morning or afternoon snack, or anytime in the day really. Many of his shirts have a Rooi stain on the chest. I hope Rooibos serves to remind him of his little life in Jozi.
My Sydney breakfast is now brewed. The leaves are oh so leafy, the smell so intense. Let the drug induced high flow!