I Made Tea

I mustered up quiet a thirst this morning. Hastily I summoned my maid with two tugs of the bell chord dangling above my handsome head. To no avail? Surging forth, I pulled again with vigour, the sheer brawn of my strapping forearm evident as I grasped the chord firmly. The bell tolled throughout the many halls echoing long after I surceased into abyss. I started for my chamber door, through each and every hall I explored. No maid?

My throat parched like my maids bartholin the night before, yawning she was not so I had made for her back door. Lost I became, not due to the scale of my house, but lost in my gaze reflected in a mirror. Such deep blue eyes I have, “You’re a gorgeous fellow” I thought. As hard as it was to bring myself away from the striking presence in the mirror, I had arrived at the pantry. There I found a note, strewn across the table. The maid, she had gone to purchase a new outfit for I had torn hers last night.

“Tea” I muttered to myself, my voice husky from the whiskey, the maid and I had indulged in, although it still maintained a velvet undertone. I have the type of voice that would reverberate through any dame, they fall weak upon hearing my voice for it is great. I filled a pot to the brim much like I had with the maid last night and placed it on the stove, much like she had felt for our love making was hot. I could have used the kettle, but the diction in my head was that of a century ago and modern conveniences wouldn’t be apt for this blog. I should also mention that it was dark in the pantry and I had an oil lamp with me to set the scene. Every room in my house is so vast, that the light from my lamp could not reach the extremities of the pantry. Instead it filled a dome with it’s light, the dome articulated by the blackness which surrounded it, and in it's centre I stood.

Brewing my tea, although rare an occasion I do this myself, I consider it an art form and with much zeal I had set about this task. My favourite cup looks as though it has been hewn from stone, for I'am man, carved from stone it seems, much like my abdomen or my entire frame for that matter. Michelangelo could have only dreamed of creating a masterpiece such as I. With a tea bag in situ I poured the now boiling water over it. I had used a silver spoon to stir the tea bag and squeeze as such to release it’s flavour. I near placed it on the counter when it caught my reflection, although distorted with the convexity of the spoon, I still looked good. A playful dash of milk and my tea was ready. I had done it all by myself, and it tasted better than any brew I had tasted before. Exulted with my success this morning, I decided to write this blog to share with you guys.

For I’am man. I made tea. You may bask in the sun that shines from my rear, for I have bestowed upon you a blog today. I will enunciate once more, I have made tea and it was great.
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Comments (12)

Nice one alexi, my good man, the black box of tea bags, of the brand Barry's, i find the most invigorating, bought in Dunne's stores, there clothes section also sell matching black thong's, for the maid, to compliment the other black box, i hope you find this information, both informative and helpful, my fine fellow, please further all correspondence to my country estate in Waterford, i would call to imbibe of your excellent tea, but am sadly dealing with some. common rebellious estate workers, yours, ben esq.
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Thank you Ben, for those pearls of wisdom. Alas I shall not be making tea again anytime soon. Although I enjoy the process, it's such a task sometimes, that I feel it's best reserved for common folk such as my maid. I shall however purchase said undergarments for my maid at the store mentioned. I wish you all the best as you set about bringing your estate workers under control and perhaps when enough blood has been spilt we can brew some tea and regale at what fine fellows we are. wine
If I attempted to write a blog like this after the night you had, it would have consisted of two sentences and been totally indecipherable.

You did well.

And congratulations on ya achievement. Boiling a pot of water takes real skill. cheers
Thank you Billy, Yes I did well in boiling the water, although I will admit it boiled over a wee bit and as such spilt everywhere. I also burned my sleeve on the stove which I omitted from the blog, furthermore when I stubbed my toe on the table I spilled a bag of sugar. In the end I had made a rather big mess, burnt my arm and hurt my foot. It was a disaster really if I'm honest crying and the tea was too weak! blues
Well... bugger the tea!

Get a real drink into ya.

It's much safer.... and better for ya health!laugh
Jeez, think we dramk all the whickey last night...

*rummages through the cupboards*

Ah yes! A bottle of tequila, I found last week on my voyage during my pirate craze..drinking
shall we retire to the smoking room gentlemen.
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Good idea Ben. A glass of your fine grandfather port would compliment Alex's tea.wine
just wondering - was the maid a one, two or three bagger innocent
i am ill informed in matters of the common people, but i am reliably informed that she was a 3 bagger, by the pot you understand, master alexi, will inform in more detail, when he returns to his Limerick estate.
Ah I see the homing pigeon made it to the Waterford estate last night Ben, with the ever so important 3 bag message. Eh? Just wondering there, the said pigeon should have been back by now Ben? I hope you didn't cook him again like last time did you?!

I would also like to inform you gentlemen that I purchased some rather racy undergarments for the maid last night after what became a rather perilous expedition to Dunne Stores with the nights sky lit up with many a streak of light as though the Gods themselves were striking the earths sky with swords in anger.

Hence my absense till now, I sought refuge from their wrath in a disused shack, or at least I thought it to be abandoned, but instead I happened upon a beautiful fair maiden who too was seeking shelter from the gods, she had been herding sheep eariler. Needless to say we found a bottle of scotch and spent the night inebriated and making passionate love to each other. drinking
i must complain alexi, the rif-raf, hanging around the gates of my estate, ''hawks-cliff '' in Waterford are unacceptable the local magistrate, Mr Higginbottom must be informed, this is very lax, of the local constabulary, hope you are in fine fettle, tally-ho, old boy, ben esq.
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created Aug 2010
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