Tea Leaf

Like many people from my area, I grew up believing that tea was a beverage naturally bright orange in colour, best served in a cracked mug bearing some kind of prominent West Bromwich Albion motif. You can imagine my surprise years ago when, on a shift with a co-worker from a similar background to myself, we raided the company's stash of exotic products to discover teas of unimaginable pedigree from around the globe. Assam, Darjeeling, Ceylon, Earl Grey, Lapsang Souchong, Kenyan and Rwandan blends (the latter sadly not opting for my suggested advertising slogan: "mmm...you can really taste the genocidal mania.")

In the name of product research, the pair of us managed to deplete most of the company's stock in the space of an afternoon. Had any customers been in, they'd have been treated to the peculiar yet heartwarming sight of two working class lads seriously debating the relative merits of the different brews (the quote of the afternoon, perhaps: "there's an earthiness to this Lapsang Souchong that the Darjeeling don't have. And it's miles better than that fucking Chamomile wank.")

It was a simple, yet unprecedented broadening of our horizons. And occasionally, when I can afford it, I still like to indulge in the tastes first sampled that afternoon, brewed with tender care, and served in a cracked mug bearing a prominent West Bromwich Albion motif.