Tea in the Afternoon

12 Jun

Tea in the Afternoon

It was probably rather naïve of me not to consider in advance the detrimental effect of moving to a Foreign Country in relation to my tea-drinking habits.  If not exactly a seasoned traveller, I have been to a few places, so I really should have known better.  I have, after all, experienced first-hand the distress caused to a British person on being denied a decent cup of tea.  Yes, I should have known better, yet somehow I overlooked tea during the Big Move.

I think, perhaps, I may have been distracted at the time by the much larger problem of how on earth I’d manage to get all of my coats to Denmark whilst remaining within the strict luggage limits of Ryanair. (As it turned out I have Status Quo to thank for the safe arrival of my preciouses – but that’s another story!)

Despite all the wonderful things about living in Denmark, one finds oneself utterly bereft of a satisfactory brew.  I don’t even mean the fancy types with flowery smells – they can actually be had with relative ease.  No, I’m talking about backbone-of-Britain, stand-your-spoon-in-it, scrape-it-out-of-the-teapot, builders’ tea. In a metal pot, left on the hob at a low heat, of course.

I have been fortunate enough in this life to have been granted some extremely kind and thoughtful friends, who, upon hearing of my peril, sent me many, many jumbo packs of Tetley and now I’m set for at least a year.  To those dear friends, I raise a mug.

So here I am, sitting in my Danish garden, in the blistering heat, flouting tradition and laughing in the face of Danish culture by drinking not en kold fra kassen but a nice cup of tea, the colour of old ladies’ tights.  As it should be.

Te om eftermiddagen

Jeg var måske lidt naiv ved ikke på forhånd at overveje den skadelige effekt af at flytte til et fremmed land i forbindelse med mine tedrikke-vaner. Måske er jeg ikke lige præcis et vidt berejst menneske, men jeg har været et par steder, så jeg skulle virkelig have vidst bedre. Jeg har jo oplevet på første hånd, den nød, som møder et britisk menneske, der bliver nægtet en tilfredsstillende kop te. Ja, jeg skulle have vidst bedre, men på en eller anden måde overså jeg te under Den Store Flytning.

Jeg tror måske, at jeg dengang var distraheret af det større problem: hvordan i alverden ville det lykkes for mig at få alle mine frakker til Danmark, men stadigvæk bliver inden Ryanairs stramme bagage grænser. (Faktisk har jeg Status Quo at takke for den sikre ankomst af mine preciouses, men det er en anden historie.)

Til trods for alle de vidunderlige ting om at bo i Danmark finder man sig fuldstændig berøvet en anstændig kop te. Jeg mener ikke engang de kunstfærdige tesorter. De er faktisk relativt nemme at få fat på. Nej, jeg snakker om Storbritanniens rygrad, ske-kan-stå-op-i-den, skrab-den-ud-af-tepotten, slave-te. Te der sidder i en metalpotte på komfuret ved svag varme (selvfølgelig).

I dette liv har jeg været heldig med at få nogle meget rare og betænksomme venner. Når de hørte om situationen, sendte de mange, mange kæmpestore pakker Tetley, og nu er jeg klar til mindst et år. Kære venner: til jer hæver jeg kruset.

Så her er jeg, der sidder i min danske have i brændende varme. Jeg blæser på tradition og dansk kultur ved at drikke ikke “en kold fra kassen” men en dejlig kop te, som skal have farven af gamle damers strømpebukser. Som det skal være.

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One Response to “Tea in the Afternoon”

  1. jenlynch August 13, 2012 at 5:10 pm #

    God bless tea (and old womans tights!!!)

    Like

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