03 January 2006

The coffee here stinks.

It's awful. The Finns, of all people, have the best coffee on the planet, throwing in adjuncts such as eggshells and vodka. T's wonnerfulll!

Good coffee, explosives, and Sweden, have kept them safe from marauding Norwegian lemmings.

But that's bloody cold comfort here in the land of Folger's dishwater.

So I drink tea. And not just any tea, genuine British tea; Ahmad tea.

Don't laugh at the name, they came over with William I. Genuine English Frogs, that family.

What could be more British than this? Just look at the picture; the Red-Coats are playing cricket, or, conkers, or whooping Napoleon's crack quiche corps whilst hoop skirted British ladies look on.

I've even got a fine tea mug to drink it out of!

Look what I got after my last confinement!

They gave it to me after my release as a "You're cleared! Sorry about the cavity searches!" present.

Not sure what brought this all on. I think it might be all those martinins.

And that's the way I likes it.