I don't stop much, something about the stopping and not being able to get started again. You know.
There's a great deal of running around at the moment.
One of my running around moments this week ended with me, miraculously child-free, at The Berry Teashop meeting a lovely friend of mine to deliver a Bikkie order and to stop. It was wonderful.
Oh, tea. For someone who plans to grow coffee, I do love the leaf.
Adam makes a fine cup of tea, I must say. In a pre-heated pot, turned three times, just like his grandfather made it.
I make it strong and milky, and if I'm tired, with a little sugar.
My Mum tells a story of offering a man at church a cup of tea, who replied that she would have to ask his wife how he took it because he didn't know. I suspect that wife has made that gentleman's tea for the last sixty years. He needs to boil his own kettle, I think. But who can deny that tea made by someone else is just nicer?
Do you have time for a cuppa today? Shall I put the kettle on? Just excuse me while I find the sugar bowl…