Dear Reader –

I am parched.

My morning tea has not arrived.

My Ming dynasty teapot – a Lamb family heirloom – has vanished.

My elephant-foot wastepaper basket is empty apart from a used teabag.

Worse is to come, dear Reader. For at precisely three minutes to eight o’clock – the time at which Cordelia has always presented me with my tea – I heard a muffled knock.

Naturally I assumed that Cordelia was struggling with my complicated door arrangement. I glid to the door. I opened it.

Yes, dear Reader, it was indeed Cordelia.

There she stood, replendent in a starched white pinny and bonnet.  She was carrying a silver tray on which there stood my teapot, a Wedgewood cup and saucer, and an elegant arrangement of cupcakes.

Cordelia threw a quick glance at me over her shoulder as the door opposite* opened a crack.

‘Mornin’ Miss Asafetida, Miss!’ she cried. ‘I’ve brought yer yer t!’

At that, Cordelia shimmied sideways through the door of the postgraduate common room  the A. Lovage Hi-Tech Laboratory.

The door closed behind her.


7 thoughts on “Sans tea, sans everything

  1. This is not to be tolerated. No matter how capable you are, Dr. Ada, one cannot brew a proper cup of tea using only an elephant-foot waste paper bin and a used tea bag. Too insulting for one of your status. I eagerly await reprisals. My reputational yardsticks are at your disposal.

    Your subtle use of imagery (the link to the Ming) was not lost on me. I can see why you are the PhD and I am not.

    1. I stand before you, Ms End, head bowed modestly. Such sensitivity to my dreadful situation! Such insight into my intellect! Truly, you are among my favourite commentators.

  2. Ms End is a tremendously gifted commentator, dear Ada. I plan to go swiftly to her blog to leave an ingratiating comment so that she will be equally sensitive to my own small endeavours. That is, indeed, if a comment can be described as ‘ingratiating’ when the nature of the text giving rise to the commentary is so clearly deserving of high praise.

  3. Quite well thank you dear. I just feared (more than usual) for everyone’s well-being if you were not amply supplied with ‘the cup that cheers’.

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