It's funny how tea is used to treat all ailments, worries, distressing news and, well, everything. And it always has to be a "nice" cup of tea, not just "oh, I'll make a cup of tea". During my mum's funeral (at which I thought I coped rather admirably) I would have drowned if I'd accepted all of the offers of "a nice cup of tea". My Auntie Ivy, after her first sip, always says "ooh, such a lovely cup of tea". She did that once when we were at BhS in Bromley. I sipped at mine again and wondered why it tasted like washing up water.
Having said that, I do like a "nice cup of tea". I have mine strong, with very little milk and no sugar. Builders Tea David calls it. He likes his "as it comes" and - depending on where he is - that could mean literally anything. Bea has hers with lemon "very weak, just swirl the bag round once" Charlie has gallons of milk in hers, Saskia hates tea in all shapes and forms but will tolerate a green tea every now and again.
I used to love tea time when I was at work. Always 3.30pm, we'd stop whatever we were doing (I worked at a hospital on the admin side of things) and head for the kettle. It was like a ritual across the whole building. Can't get through on the phone? They're making tea. Queueing at the desk to register for your appointment? They're making tea. Wondering where the hell everyone is? They're in the kitchen. Making tea.
Anyway, Lydia had her tea. She dunked some biscuits and drank the teapot dry. She said she felt better for it. A five minute break of normality (and a discussion about bunting for the Street Party) and then she was off again "I'm never going to have a baby am I? Am I? I'm going to end up all alone in the world with just a cat for company." she wailed, sobbing into the sofa cushions and grabbing for the bourbon creams.
I went out to make a nice cup of tea to go with them.