WILLO TALK: Storm in a teacup

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AS regular readers of this column will know, I don’t mind a moan or three every now and again and while I wouldn’t class myself in the same bracket as Victor Meldrew, I must admit it doesn’t take me long to find a negative.

My latest cause for a bleat came at the weekend when I decided to take a break from a shopping trip to go for a cup of tea.

I won’t tell you where I was, other than to say it was an out-of-town shopping area on a Park in Teesside, and having spent ages trying to get parked and ages looking for stuff then ages queuing to pay for stuff, I decided to take the weight of my feet and enjoy a cuppa.

I can’t usually stand these places that serve skinny moccalattechinos in tall thin glasses with a handful of marshmallows and frothy cream on the top, mainly because I think they are for posers but also because they Costa fortune.

And the poxy little biscuit you get on the saucer is always as dry as Gandhi’s flip flops.

But any port in a storm, as they say, so in I went.

After looking at the big board behind the counter with a list of every type of coffee this side of Brazil, I stuck to my guns and asked for a cup of tea.

After the assistant had given me the world’s biggest tut for my snub towards her coffee selection, she grunted “regular or large” at me before thrusting a cardboard cup in my direction, helpfully telling me that my teabag was in it before pointing me in the direction of where I could get some hot water.

Cheers for that, I thought, as I slalomed my way through tables full of weary shoppers enjoying poncey coffee while trying to carry bags and a cup of boiling water - and a teabag - without bumping into anyone or knocking their marshmallows off the top of their tall thin glasses.

The next stage of my mission to have a cup of tea saw me carry out a search for milk, though that gave the boiling water time to cool down a bit.

At least being diabetic, I didn’t need to hunt for the sugar. See, it’s not all bad when you’re insulin dependant.

I finally sat down to enjoy my cuppa, and wondered why the grumpy woman couldn’t have just made my cup of tea, in the same way as she did everyone’s coffee.

I don’t know if I’m just creating a storm in a teacup, but next time I’m tempted to get a skinny moccalattechino to save any hassle.