Mug!!
You’ve been in my life for many years, surviving a falling shelf when everything else was smashed, being left out in the rain more times than I could possibly count, indignity in the greenhouse when seedlings are being pampered and you’ve been placed next to grubby hasbeens stuffed full of labels, bits of string and a marker pen that no longer writes!
You have always understood that big drinks are not for me and your bone china elegance has always provided a more refined offering of my favourite brews unlike the large, clumpy pottery monstrosities hanging on my kitchen dresser because people keep giving them to me. I don’t mind that they proclaim me to be the world’s greatest granny or a gardening guru but they just don’t keep my drinks HOT so I end up leaving almost half of it.
You survived four months in storage in a packing case clearly marked so I could unpack you first and claimed your rightful place next to the tea caddy almost as fast as I could get the kettle on.
This morning, however, I had to make the sad decision that a suspicious looking crack could no longer be passed off as part of the autumnal charm of your tasteful design so I will gently place you in the bottom of the bin because I already have enough cracked mugs littering up the shed and greenhouse and in any case you would hate the company! 😢
