[17/11, 07:41] Me: On a totally different note… our kettle plug has fused into the socket 😬 it still works, but I’m guessing it mist have gotten burnt in by a power surge. Actually impossible to remove it 🙄
[17/11, 11:48] Me: So now the kettle won’t boil at all.
Yet we have to boil everything we drink, Which is a lot for 8 people.
David calling electrician now… I don’t want to have to replace the kettle as we only just bought it in maybe August. And had to get a tiny capacity one as that was the only one with a long enough flex to reach the socket… staggering incompetence… the “cooker” socket is too high up the wall for the cooker flex to reach… so we have to alternate kettle, cooker and microwave between two sockets on a double socket.
[17/11, 11:48] Me: …which is annoying, but fine when things work…
[17/11, 19:36] Me: Kettle drama sorted at a cost 😒
Going to have a cuppa now. Thank You Jesus for the kettle!!
[17/11, 20:05] SB: Was just about to ask
[17/11, 20:56] Me: Yeah… it’s the best and British response to every crisis.
[17/11, 20:58] Me: So the scene in Ratatouille where Anton Ego has a flashback to childhood, of his mother comforting him with a bowl of ratatouille because he’s fallen and grazed his knees…
The British grown-up equivalent is to put the kettle on.
Hence the nursery rhyme Polly Put the Kettle on…
[17/11, 20:59] Me: After giving birth? Tea and toast.
After rape, giving a statement? Tea, possibly a biscuit.
Upon hearing your pet’s died? Cup of tea.
Upon receiving devastating news? Cup of tea.
Upon disclosure? Cup of tea.
[17/11, 21:00] Me: Because you can say so much without ever saying anything. You can both stare into your mugs and watch the brown liquid swirl without having to say anything. But the comfort is received.
[17/11, 21:01] Me: So making a proper cup of tea is hugely important.
[17/11, 21:09] Me: Mine wasn’t a proper one (wasn’t pottery) – mine was metal – but it affected me hugely that my teapot was stolen. You don’t do that. I bought a tea set for my birthday two years ago just for the beautiful tea pot.
I got upset yesterday because Ella lost (I think she threw away, possibly by accident) my last Ikea tea spoon from the UK. It had a flatter end than the nasty ones I’ve had to buy here.
Why did it matter? Because I would sit and stir my mug of tea with that spoon – my favourite mugs from the UK – and forget, just for the length of a cup of tea, that I live here and I hate it. I buy Twinings Earl Grey tea which has been imported from the UK – so that I’m getting an authentic taste memory from my teenage years. That’s why, when I drink Ugandan tea, I like to drink it spiced so there can be no comparison. Let her memory remain unsullied.
Tea and toast.
There’s something restorative about it, even though the wheat makes me bloat. Even though Blue Band will never be British butter.
But there’s something about closing the curtains, turning off the lights, listening to the rain, urging it to stay, putting on the Christmas tree lights, and feeling for a few moments every day for just over a month, that all is not lost; that life will be rediscovered; that tea and toast really will solve world peace.
That Jesus really is the Prince of Peace, King of the Kettle, Creator of tea leaves.
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