All is calm in this long lost dream of my perfect cup of tea.
The embroidered cloth crisply laundered hangs beside the beautiful carved oak chairs. I hear the busting sounds of tea making as I climb onto the seat. I am after all quite small. The correct quantity of leaves is being expertly dispensed, the musical notes of china being placed on the tea tray and almost imperceptible sounds of steam rising from boiling water – these are the noises that I remember announcing my first proper cup of tea.
The tea is poured into pretty tea cups.
The atmosphere is deep and tranquil, cool after the warmth of the day. The heady aroma is unmistakable as its floods the senses. It is the thick dark amber liquid of this perfect cup of tea that I seek to recreate always – or is it that moment the two are interconnected. Biscuits and battenburg compete with floral motifs, the china it was placed on is now an anchor to that past that brings back the memory.
oh to have that first grown up tea time again…………..