Realised recently how much I love tea and coffee. The whole process, the boiling of the kettle, and that peaceful calm that comes after the climax ;). The way the glorious Scottish aqua bubbles it's way to boiling point, releasing a cylindrical plume of steam (no innuendos, I swear).
Then my favourite stage: the poring. I usually sigh with satisfaction as the sound changes from the water rising, making a sort of unique foamy swoopy sound.
Not particularly that unique I suppose, living in Glasgow where it rains 9 months of the year, with burst drain pipes spewing rusty water onto the pile of litter and dead pigeons. And that's just the affluent parts.
Now I'd hate someone to make me choose, but would have to admit I'm verging on being a tea man recently. Although, it all depends really, as soon as I thought that I craved a coffee.
If I'm out, say at a restaurant or a cafe, I'd rarely ever order a tea, unless eating a full English, which on second thought, is actually all the time.
Let's be honest, I'll probably have one in the Corinthian tonight.
Apart from that though, It seems to be only at home that I can really enjoy tea.
Coffee has its advantages. Boil the kettle, and its made in seconds. Of course, for the pretentious cocks reading this, you'll be smirking that I'm obviously an instant coffee drinker. I'd love to own a coffee machine, but I don't, and the French Press just, well, French. Nescafe Gold and Douwe Egberts do the trick. Sainsbury's own budget one though, false economy, nearly ruined my week at work when I thought I'd be clever buying it on the Monday. Was probably the God of Waitrose testing my faith.
With tea there's an awkward period of 70 seconds or so, just waiting there, thinking about stuff before removing the soggy bag. Thinking about childhood, and whether or not I can still claim to be extending it. Thinking about the Universe, and what is, or isn't it. Thinking about tits, and how great they are. Thinking about thinking about thinking about thinking.... ad infinitum.
Tea first thing in the morning, and last thing at night is perfect.
Coffee is especially great when you need energy at work or after a meal.
I'm tempted to make a conceptual model, but cannot be fucked.
I think what really appeals to me about tea and coffee, is that, compared with other pleasures in life, there are no real risks or negative side affects. I couldn't think of one, till my friend informed me that it can badly discolour your teeth. Small price to pay in my opinion.
After hours of heated debate some friends and I concluded that only water and lettuce can be enjoyed without negatives - apart from the fact that an isolated lettuce is incredibly boring. Fortunately, I love water.
But I suppose everything comes at a cost to your life. Only when a nanosecond young are you pure and healthy, and from that point onwards, you're using up your energy and health.
But who wants to be the proverbial energy saving light bulb that lasts for ever but enjoys a rather dim existence.
Energy saving light bulbs actually make no sense anyway. In the past, say 70-80 years ago, lightbulbs were made to last decades. Only when manufacturers realised the huge profits to be yielded from planned obsolescence, did that change. If I were a lightbulb I'd be a bright one with an elegant tint, hanging in a Parisian whore-house left over from the 1930s.
Anyway, back to Tea, the world's second most popular beverage after water. Thought to be "quintessentially English" by most of the world, I'll often here someone forget their Glaswegian and on a Sunday afternoon smugly say:
"there's something so quintessentially British about a cup of tea" whilst sitting cross legged watching cash in the attic.
To get the correct idea of the manner in which they say it, YouTube: Tony Benn; the old British MP, and imagine him saying that same phrase but with dark chocolate melting in his mouth.
Or a segment of Terry's Chocolate Orange. Whatever you wish. Set your imagination free.
(Just to clarify, I highly respect Tony Benn, he's a great man. It's just his voice suits what I'm typing about).
Anyway, I'd like to change this Glaswegian handicap forever, and allow us to say with confidence that tea is "quintessentially Scottish" instead. So we can sit legs open, naked, in our council houses whilst watching Highlander (episodes, not the movie), or Weirs Way.
 |
| "I was looking for Asian tits not tea!" :( |
(I actually doubt this. And I dislike such strong statements, but authors commonly say that to sell their books).
Don't just take my educated and amazing word for it though. I'm citing much of my research from Sarah Rose's non-fiction: "For All the Tea in China: Espionage, Empire and the Secret Formula for the World's Favourite Drink" - worth the read, if your not too aroused from reading my posts. (If you are, just wet a towel, lie horizontally and rest it on your forehead).
Before we proceed on our journey, I would like to remind us all about some of the great things Scots have contributed to the world:
- Adam Smith - Economics (we wouldn't have this global meltdown without him),
- Alexander Fleming - Antibiotics (The Sandyford clinic wouldn't exist without),
- Alexander Graham Bell - Telephone (Angry birds on your iPhone directly links back to him),
- John Logie Baird - Television (Sky HD 3D would not be here),
- Sir Robert Watson-Watt - Radar defense system (Call of Duty would be rubbish without. If only this man hadn't gone and ruined it all by saying something stupid like "I saw Nessie" he died a laughing stock)
- Bob Marley (little known fact that his dad was a Scotsman)
Robert Fortune: Putting the 't' in Scotland.
(BTW, don't make the error of going to http://robertfortune.com/ and thinking it's a site about him. You'll be lead to the page of some shocking metal band. Their song Cadillac is amazing though).
Born on the 16th of September, 1812, in the town of Berwickshire, Scotland, his father was no more than a common gardener. Robert, however, was studious and ambitious, and the skills he learned from his father were soon put to good use at the Botanical Garden in Edinburgh. He was known for having a unique grip and pull technique for removing weeds, and other than natural weeding skills, could uproot a small tree with his bare hands. Before long, he was working along side some of the most elite botanists in Europe, at the Royal Horticultural Society of London's garden at Chiswick.
In 1842, a dynamic and curious Mr Fortune was ordered to go to China following the end of the First Opium War, to discover and document Chinese species of plants unknown to Europe, for the sake of science, and also to satisfy Victorian Britain's obsession with all things rare, foreign and exotic - a result of her vast empire which covered so much of the globe. The expression "the sun never sets on the British Empire" was completely true. Kinda like toppoblog.
Years later, when he was back in London, the East India Company (a British-run trading company, operating out of East India, with monopolies over many commodities) approached him based on his botanic expertise and his experience in China (such an ideal candidate) and offered him four times his annual salary if he would go on an espionage mission to China, to steal the secrets of how to properly cultivate and produce tea.
For the sake of keeping you interested, let us forget about the ins and outs of the historical backdrop, and just focus on the interesting part. All that is important to know is that going to China on an espionage mission at this time in World history, was extremely risky, and had a Brit been caught by Chinese authorities, they would most certainly have been killed by poking.
The Interesting Part.
In order to be able to journey safely around China, he had to disguise himself as a Chinese Mandarin, highly respected Civil Servants in that day. A vast country with a multitude of ethnicities, Robert was able to disguise himself more easily than you would perhaps expect. With a solid knowledge of Chinese from his last experience there, he was well equipped for the mission.
He was then dipped in a pool of burning hot tar. They took him out, then set him on fire. Just when Robert had the cheek to think his ordeal was over, the chief of the savage tribe sodomized him for 45 minutes with a banzai tree.
Amazingly, this method cured him, and he writes in his memoirs:
"I felt ashamed and a fool, for being so arrogant, for being such a cultural imperialist who'd assumed Western and Victorian methods of science and medicine were the only methods".
What's more, Fortune had a eureka moment (not running down a street naked however) whilst the chieftain penetrated him. He would smuggle tea back to London via his arse. His friends at the time reportedly teased him for this feat. If Freud had lived before this time, I suspect he surely would have been teased for being too "anal" about tea.
After refusing to be married off to the tribe's goat, he was banished from the tribe, and had to set out naked, with nothing but his woven, worn, beaten sandals, for weeks across baron rural Chinese land in search of something...anything.
Just when he thought nothing could possibly get less hopeful, he was ambushed by a group of bears.
A witness recalled at the time: "All I saw was the naked body of a white warrior wrestling a bear. He is also the first and last warrior I have ever seen tomb stone a bear".
This witness was Sho-Kein, the member of a tribe fortunately inhabiting some rural land close by, in the Zhejiang region. Sho-Kein advised Robert to sheath himself with a flower, and he was invited to stay with his tribe for a as long as he wished, so as to ward of future bears.
Luckily for Robert, this province was the famous Tea-making region he had been headed for in the first place. Such good fortune.
To be continued...
I have company now, and don't want to be anti-social, we shall complete our journey soon.
Just next time you have a tea, raise your cup and toast it to good Fortune.
X
PART II.
The following morning, Robert was afforded the luxury of a lie in. After bathing himself all day, and tending to his wounds with hot water and towels, his new friend Sho-Kein informed him that after dinner he'd have to meet Rupert the Wise Giraffe.
Night had fallen, and around the fire Robert sat, basket-legged with Sho-kein on his left, and a beautiful and exotic tribeswoman, named Chenguang directly opposite, her head angled downwards, eyes looking up, staring at him madly whilst noodles escaped into her mouth.
There was no time for arousal however. He just could not stop thinking about Egg and Chips. It's all he bloody well wanted. Egg, haggis, black pudding, things he missed dearly. A warm watered down Tennents. Ginger hair. Sauchiehall Street.
Robert's chain of thought was interrupted by the arrival of a six-manned formation of lantern-yielding, robe-wearing, trance-like persons. They signaled to Sho-Kein, and in turn, Sho-kein summoned Robert to go with them. They led him away from the more open area with the majority of the tribe, who were all largely too busy enjoying their dinner to notice, toward the absolute blackness of the surrounding forestry. Through naturally occurring pathways they led Robert, till after 10 minutes of walking, the glow of a fire started to appear on the horizon. The glow grew larger and larger till all of a sudden another opening appeared, and stood by the far back right corner, was who could only be, Rupert the Wise Giraffe.
Robert's chain of thought was interrupted by the arrival of a six-manned formation of lantern-yielding, robe-wearing, trance-like persons. They signaled to Sho-Kein, and in turn, Sho-kein summoned Robert to go with them. They led him away from the more open area with the majority of the tribe, who were all largely too busy enjoying their dinner to notice, toward the absolute blackness of the surrounding forestry. Through naturally occurring pathways they led Robert, till after 10 minutes of walking, the glow of a fire started to appear on the horizon. The glow grew larger and larger till all of a sudden another opening appeared, and stood by the far back right corner, was who could only be, Rupert the Wise Giraffe.
Rupert wore a white fluffy beard, monocle, tweed jacket and an eccentric patchwork bow-tie. He nodded wisely with his long wise head and neck. So wisely, in fact, that Robert felt himself drifting off into a rather beautiful dream. Like gently and effortlessly floating back and being carried by a cloud, through a pink and misty sky. Various varieties of tea floating past with wings on. Some being carried by other clouds. Some being brewed and enjoyed by a group of smiling monks.
And then Rupert, galloping through the sky toward him, saying "wake up Robert, wake up Robert, wake up Robert" with a voice a blend of Winston Churchill, Sean Connery and Tony Benn. Robert awoke: "But I'm still on a cloud. I'm still dreaming".
"aahhhh" groaned Rupert. "Another one. A classic case of somebody who doesn't believe in magic" Magic was said with a whisper, so soft and gentle, that it was nearly inaudible.
Never underestimate the power of magic my dear fellow. This is all, very real. You score a zero on the dial of the Magic Barometer. It is going to take a lot of magic to save you."
"from what?" a perplexed and slightly pissed of Robert said.
"from yourself Andrew"
"It's Robert"
"Oh, I must be getting ditsy in my old age. Anyway, it is your destiny to tickle the belly of the beast. Trufflepuffle and Dingleepoopywoopy will fly you there. Go now, there's not much time. Just remember the word "Azuraflippiteedippiteewippitteedooooo. Actually, that's wrong, it's "Azuraflippiteedippiteewippiteeskippiteepoooo".
"What the fuck is this? What are you? For Christ's Sake!!"
"I am getting old Steven, and I am going to need someone to take my place, and to defend magic...from the forces of darkness..."
A chilling wind started to blow, causing Robert to quiver...sexually.
"For the sake of Mankind and Christianity, my name is Robert Fortune, Sir Robert Fortune. Now explain yourself man, or I'll have you charged with treason and put in front of Her Majesty's court. You are meddling in the affairs of the British Crown".
"Very well pettle, your name is irrelevant anyway. Pah! The British Crown, do not make me laugh".
"Lies, how dare you! How dare you insult her Majesty!" Robert screamed through his tears.
Rupert turns away from Robert.
"So, considering smuggling tea back to Great Britain via your anal canal, are we? You really do put the but, anus and tea into bot-anis-t. What if I were to tell you that instead you could take a colour photograph of most of the specimens meaning only the most vital would need to be smuggled back physically for analysis? Or should I say, anal, y sis?"
"Enough of the jokes, and I don't have a sister anyway so that last one doesn't work. Wait, was that an incestuous joke? Fuck off! And also, it's pronounced botanist to those who speak normally, not butanist as you say it. More to the point, how do you know about my mission?" Robert said.
There was a slight pause...
"Magic", Rupert whispered.
"Well, with regards to photographs, nonsense, there is no such technology, it is impossible to take coloured photographs" Robert Said.
"At present, impossible yes, but I've just come back from 20 years into the future. A young and ingenious Scotsman, named James Clerk Maxwell, in 1861 produces the first coloured image in history. Have a look" Rupert gestures for Robert to come forth. He cautiously steps toward Rupert's outstretched....eh, leg...and with care allows the image to rest lightly on his now sweaty palm.
"Is it the Playboy logo?" Robert asked.
"No, a tartan ribbon. Trust a Scot to make the subject of the first coloured photograph, a tartan ribbon" said Rupert.
"So, the elephant in the room. Or, the Giraffe in the room. Why are you a Giraffe?!" Robert asked.
"Well, I can adopt any persona I wish, and well, the Giraffe just clicks. I was the Zebra of Zhekiang for a while to achieve the alliteration, but, I just didn't seem as wise. People didn't respect me. Plus, lazy folk started to call me ZZ, or ZoZ, which just didn't suit my self-image."
"But a giraffe? Why not a dragon or something useful at least?" Robert asked.
Rupert ignored him, and Robert could sense it was an awkward subject.
"There's too little time for this dumb foolery. You must go now with Trufflepuffle and Dingleepoopywoopy." Rupert walked away into the dark forestry, the glowing lanterns of his minders fading gradually like Robert's understandings of reality.
"Good luck Simon" Rupert's wise and mysterious voice echoed from the distance.
"But my name's..." he started, but it was no good, Robert resigned himself to his immediate fate, and turned to face Trufflepuffle and Dingleepoopywoopy.
To Be Continued...
And then Rupert, galloping through the sky toward him, saying "wake up Robert, wake up Robert, wake up Robert" with a voice a blend of Winston Churchill, Sean Connery and Tony Benn. Robert awoke: "But I'm still on a cloud. I'm still dreaming".
"aahhhh" groaned Rupert. "Another one. A classic case of somebody who doesn't believe in magic" Magic was said with a whisper, so soft and gentle, that it was nearly inaudible.
Never underestimate the power of magic my dear fellow. This is all, very real. You score a zero on the dial of the Magic Barometer. It is going to take a lot of magic to save you."
"from what?" a perplexed and slightly pissed of Robert said.
"from yourself Andrew"
"It's Robert"
"Oh, I must be getting ditsy in my old age. Anyway, it is your destiny to tickle the belly of the beast. Trufflepuffle and Dingleepoopywoopy will fly you there. Go now, there's not much time. Just remember the word "Azuraflippiteedippiteewippitteedooooo. Actually, that's wrong, it's "Azuraflippiteedippiteewippiteeskippiteepoooo".
"What the fuck is this? What are you? For Christ's Sake!!"
"I am getting old Steven, and I am going to need someone to take my place, and to defend magic...from the forces of darkness..."
A chilling wind started to blow, causing Robert to quiver...sexually.
"For the sake of Mankind and Christianity, my name is Robert Fortune, Sir Robert Fortune. Now explain yourself man, or I'll have you charged with treason and put in front of Her Majesty's court. You are meddling in the affairs of the British Crown".
"Very well pettle, your name is irrelevant anyway. Pah! The British Crown, do not make me laugh".
"Lies, how dare you! How dare you insult her Majesty!" Robert screamed through his tears.
Rupert turns away from Robert.
"So, considering smuggling tea back to Great Britain via your anal canal, are we? You really do put the but, anus and tea into bot-anis-t. What if I were to tell you that instead you could take a colour photograph of most of the specimens meaning only the most vital would need to be smuggled back physically for analysis? Or should I say, anal, y sis?"
"Enough of the jokes, and I don't have a sister anyway so that last one doesn't work. Wait, was that an incestuous joke? Fuck off! And also, it's pronounced botanist to those who speak normally, not butanist as you say it. More to the point, how do you know about my mission?" Robert said.
There was a slight pause...
"Magic", Rupert whispered.
"Well, with regards to photographs, nonsense, there is no such technology, it is impossible to take coloured photographs" Robert Said.
"At present, impossible yes, but I've just come back from 20 years into the future. A young and ingenious Scotsman, named James Clerk Maxwell, in 1861 produces the first coloured image in history. Have a look" Rupert gestures for Robert to come forth. He cautiously steps toward Rupert's outstretched....eh, leg...and with care allows the image to rest lightly on his now sweaty palm.
"Is it the Playboy logo?" Robert asked."No, a tartan ribbon. Trust a Scot to make the subject of the first coloured photograph, a tartan ribbon" said Rupert.
"So, the elephant in the room. Or, the Giraffe in the room. Why are you a Giraffe?!" Robert asked.
"Well, I can adopt any persona I wish, and well, the Giraffe just clicks. I was the Zebra of Zhekiang for a while to achieve the alliteration, but, I just didn't seem as wise. People didn't respect me. Plus, lazy folk started to call me ZZ, or ZoZ, which just didn't suit my self-image."
"But a giraffe? Why not a dragon or something useful at least?" Robert asked.
Rupert ignored him, and Robert could sense it was an awkward subject.
"There's too little time for this dumb foolery. You must go now with Trufflepuffle and Dingleepoopywoopy." Rupert walked away into the dark forestry, the glowing lanterns of his minders fading gradually like Robert's understandings of reality.
"Good luck Simon" Rupert's wise and mysterious voice echoed from the distance.
"But my name's..." he started, but it was no good, Robert resigned himself to his immediate fate, and turned to face Trufflepuffle and Dingleepoopywoopy.
To Be Continued...
