Tea Time

Just back from afternoon tea at the little coffeshop opposite the mosque up Still Road. Teh tarik plus sweet potato, fried. Oh, and teh 'O' plus goreng pisang and other goodies for the missus. I've said it before and I'll say it again (frequently, I hope): it doesn't get any better.

Apropos of nothing: in Manchester, when I was a little lad, your tea was what people now call dinner, and your dinner was what you had at lunch. We used to eat our tea around five-thirty which meant that later in the evening you'd often feel a bit peckish. Have a piece of bread was my mother's invariable remedy.

By the time I was old enough to go to university eating supper had become quite fashionable, a meal consumed after leaving the pub. This did not contribute to a healthy lifestyle. Said meal was usually prefaced by someone announcing: I could murder an Indian. Entirely without any racist overtones, by the way. In fact, expressive of a deep admiration for the right kind of grub.