My family is inordinately fond of tea, the brewed kind, although there is definitely a fondness for the scone and cake kind as well. When my dad still worked, tea was brought to him in a pint sized mug, the ultimate bribe. On a busy day sometimes he’d have enough to swim in. And my mum is no different. She can happily have two cups of tea before she’ll even venture out of bed in the morning. At large family gatherings, the kettle never stops in its endless cycle from cold to boiling and minions (usually gullible son-in-laws) are sent around the rooms laden down with a dozen brimming mugs crowded onto trays equally brimming with spilt tea.
In the following extract, Edward is less keen on the advantages of tea. Foolish man.
The room was bustling. Overexcited young women crowded in from all sides, a pastel army in long trained afternoon dresses, decorated with row upon row of frills and ribbon. And all armed to the teeth with scalding hot cups of tea. It was a damned war zone.
But at least Edward didn’t have to worry about the matchmaking-mamas. Being engaged to two women had its benefits.
Hidden behind an enormous potted fern, Edward scanned the room, desperate for a flash of auburn amongst the blondes and brunettes. Betty had worn pale green the previous day, an impossible hue to spot amidst the sea of insipid pastels.