But today is something that we love. Something, not someone.
Yes. A cup of tea. Milk. 2 sugars. Strong. NATO standard, builders tea.
After the accident I think if I'd gone to give blood they would have sent me to Tetley's to have the tea distilled out of me! In the police car, having had the news about the accident at school, being taken home in the back of the car, the conversation I remember went...
"We'll go back to your house, and then we'll sort some things out from there. I have some items which I will need you to verify belong to Rich."
"Ok. I can do that. But I haven't hoovered."
"That doesn't matter. Is there anything you would like to do when we get back to your house?"
"I'd like a cup of tea. *pause* Damn. That's a bit bloody English of me!"
"Well, Mike here is very good at cups of tea."
Apparently he meant phone my mother and so on. I drank so much tea. Good job I don't drink whiskey, we'd all have been in the poor house! (and yes, these days I remember looking at his stuff and the feeling of knowing, and firmly trying to settle into denial. And these days I think, for all her "I'm the next of kin, give me everything he had that was worth anything" that she didn't have the honour of doing that, that she never saw him and identified *him*, because she was worthless to him.)
But a cup of tea.
In a crisis.
How so, very, sodding, English.