The Blasphemous Confession
Me: ‘Afternoon! Welcome to Octeaber-what delicious treat and brew can I rustle up for you in return for a bit o’chari-tea?’
I thought I had my patter down, an excellent display of sumptuous wares (don’t worry, I hadn’t stripped down to my undies), and a teagasmic selection of loose leaf to coerce my poor work colleagues to give up teabagging vigorously at weekends, and try something more fulfilling. Spiritually, mentally and physically.
Work colleague: ‘I actually hate tea. The smell of it makes me want to vomit. It’s like dirty dishwater.’
WHAT. THE. FRANKENFURTER. In my minds eye, I had wrestled this beverage yob to the ground, smashed them repeatedly in the face with novelty and alluringly phallic tea strainers and forceably sloshed soapy water in their dirty mouth. My inner psychopath may also have been screaming ‘HOW DAREEEE YOU! HOW DARE YOU COME HERE INTO AN ES-TEA-MED HOUSE OF BREW WORSHIP, SANCTUARY AND SOLACE AND TAR IT WITH YOUR FILTHY BLASPHEMY, YOU MISGUIDED, OBSCENE BEVVY LOUT!’
But I couldn’t do this. I was at work. My boss was there. I was wearing a lanyard of respectability. The lanyard that means ‘I’m employed here, and so are you, and no matter what equine faeces excretes its way out of your uncultured mouth, I have to smile and obsequiously agree’. So I did the only acceptable, polite and British thing one could do…
Me: ‘Oh gosh. I’m so sorry, that is mig-tea-ly unfortunate. Can we resolve your ill founded fear over a cup of tea and some passive aggression?’
They tried some tea (well Cosy Tea Rooibos, in a tea bag-baby steps). They had some cake. They donated after some intense eyeballing from me – although that may have just been my caffeine face. And they bloody well liked it.
The Naughty Confessions
This is how Octeaber began…this was gonna be a tough crowd. It seemed that convincing Miley Cyrus to become a sedate, celibate nun might be a less arduous task than convincing these Tetley Tits and Twinings Twats to try something a little different, let alone give some mullah to a good cause for the privilege.
BUT I am quite persuasive. I would have Miley Cyrus in a habit quicker than you can say ‘Miley-fakes-lesbianism-to-boost-sales-as-she-has-the-talent-of-a-deaf-blind-and-dumb-mutated-platypus-and-relies-on-her-dad’s-fame.’ Sorry Miley fans.
However, my Twining Twats and Tetley Tits did me very proud. They tried my whole array of loose leaf from the strong workshorse Birdhouse Full Monty, to the cheeky chappy that is The Tea House Wild Cherries, to the acquired taste of Whittard’s Russian Caravan. For the slightly less brew daring, many tried the fair trade and biodegradable tea bags from Cosy Tea -some of the only teabags I approve of as they taste pretty damn good and do nice things for the environment, like make it breakfast in bed on a Sunday – and branched out to Earl Grey and heaven forbid, PEPPERMINT!
Whether trying a new brew was just seen as a necessary tick box to access the smorgasbord of sweet treats that I had lovingly baked or not, my fellow office prisoners did go balls deep into their new tea experience. Some confessed:
- ‘This is so much better than coffee’
- ‘Oh wow, this is nicer than my soggy teabag cuppa, I might even get one of these strainer thingies’
- ‘I’m sorry I keep photocopying my arse and nicking your stapler’
They also dug deep into their pockets and raised nearly £100 for South Yorkshire Eating Disorders Association. Told you I was persuasive-you can now find Miley at the Lapsang Souchong Monastery in Mount Wuyi, Foujian Province, China taking a vow of chastity and silence. (Tea banter there for the sommeliers amongst you!)
So what do I have to confess? I didn’t have a cuppa all day? JOKES! I had about 85, AND two coffees-sacrilege. I ate THREE CAKES?! Wrong again…I actually had six (too delish not to oblige, and if you can’t get fat for chari-tea, what can you do?!). I was so overwhelmed by everyone’s generosi-tea that I had a little cry in the toilets afterwards like I had been dumped by the only boy who had ever asked me out and then reconsidered after an unfortunate Pritt Stick incident. BINGO!
Thank you to: all of my colleagues who came down and supported Octeaber today; the wonderful master bakers who committed the cardinal sin of skipping watching the GBBO semi-final to make tasty treats for the launch; and finally to you crazy cats for reading my ramblings about how much I’m partial to a tiny, eeeny weeny bit of tea (and a lot of 14 year old toilet humour).
Don’t forget to check back tomorrow for the next instalment of my daily blog Octeaber challenge!
Do your bit mugga cuppas-put the ‘tea’ in chari-tea!