“There you are son,” said Mum gurning a lubricious sort of smile at me, “a cup of tea made with real tea leaves.”I thanked her, taking hold of china mug in one hand whilst manipulating lips into supping mode, I then sipped at the steaming beverage. One humongous mouthful later I felt my teeth rattling against my tongue as my gums retreated into the roof of my mouth and my eyes crossed. My saliva dried up making speech virtually impossible. The tea had obviously been strained through some geriatrics gusted garments. It was the vilest brew I have ever had the displeasure to have filled the old cavity with. I think those poor souls drowned in the wreck of the Old Aspidistra, or Hibiscus or whatever the ruddy boat was called, would have found even the briny salt more palatable than this moribund concoction.
Can a drink be moribund? Well, yes, after tasting this I can assure you it can, for it sure as hell left me dilapidated, declining and dying in ways most horrid.
All this tommy rot about the past and all it produced being somehow covered in glowing sepia tones is all well and good but when those self-same sepia tones have turned a cloudy mahogany, looking as though dredged from the stagnant depths of father Thames then the glorious past can shuffle off and hide in some dusty tome.
Mind you Mum’s ‘real tea’ looks rather splendid when applied with large brush to garden fence.
all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy.To view my books on Amazon/Kindle go here: https://www.amazon.com/author/russellduffy -- For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?