Tag: Tea

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British Camp?

Ok, this is the first time I’ve posted a film. This is called British Camp, it’s an outdoorsy type of epic starring Malvern Hills and has far reaching views. Production values are not up to much, it was done on a phone after all, so you’ll be pleased that it is very short.

An October walk on the Malvern Hills is the main story line. The story ends with Tiffin the hero of the outing which can be found at the end of the walk and is not to be missed. No saccharin here this is real chocolate with a chocolate topping, absolutely topping with a cup of tea.

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This is one of the opening scenes

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Way out West you can see for miles over to the Shropshire Hills and Wales beyond.

malvern-cafe

Back down on the home run there is the cafe, perched on the hillside. Ring both bells and you will be well served. Tiffin and tea, what better way to end the adventure.

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Roll credits:

Tiffin was served by Ruffz Refreshment Kiosk
Midsummer Hill, Malvern and made by the proprietor

Miss Toni Leigh Hollings
who sounds like a star too!

Find them on Facebook:Ruffz
Then seek out after a healthy walk. Well worth it.

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The Tea Collectors of Barnsley

Barnsley Tcollection177Herewith an illustrated version of the Tea Collectors of Barnsley. Working only at night and collecting only the most delicate leaves from the bush, these dedicated people are responsible for some of the finest brews in the UK. It’s a tough job as the local climate predicates that the rare bushes can only be harvested at night. The bushes can  be mistaken for overgrown garden leylandi. Collectors can be easily recognised in their flat hats and gaberdine macintoshes. Certain of them also have been known to use old miner’s head torches, which has been an ideal way to recycle items that no longer have any practical use in this country.

Don’t believe me? Then you’ve obviously never been to Barnsley and where else do you think Yorkshire Tea comes from?

 

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Heckmondwike, the consequences…

A gathering of tea cups or mugs, unwashed. Left in a place of work, the collective noun is as we all know by now a ‘heckmondwike’. But the consequences of such a thing when dishwashers are present is even more aggravating and confirms my dislike of these infernal machines.

I’ve already gone on about how unsociable they are, but with the possibility of a ‘heck’ ( one is allowed to shorten the noun when in common parlance ) there comes the likelihood of a ‘oswaldtwistle‘, or more commonly the shortened version a ‘twistle’. As anyone with any knowledge of English will know this is the word used for retrieving a dirty mug from a dishwasher when there are none left in the vast store cupboard that normally holds at least twenty to try and minimise the risk. It also means ‘ a very bad turn of mood’ like when a spotty oik assistant in a shop ignores you when looking at mobile phone and heads for the chap next to you who’s just walked in. The wheeling of a mobile shopping bag guarantees that this  spotty oik will deem you completely invisible. Hence the phrase on the return of a shopping trip with aforementioned mobile shopping bag: “I dropped into Carphone Warehouse to see if they would give me an upgrade on my iPhone 6 for something even more expensive and the oik ignored me completely and talked to some young bloke about how cool the iPhone 4 was. I got into a right twistle, and stomped out.

I’ve a liking ,which is obvious from the last couple of posts, to making up new meanings from place names. The inspiration is a book called the Meaning of Liff which was written by Douglas Adams and John Lloyd, the former the writer of Hitch Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy and the latter a humorist who does lots of stuff on Radio 4. The book was published years ago and to me is their finest work. Seek it out and enjoy. I’ve done my own version recently which is based on Gloucestershire place names only and is called “Glossary”. I’ll be posting extracts and drawings from it over the coming months. The drawing has been posted before but it bears repeating, if you’ve seen it before then calm down, no need to get into a twistle, there will be a brand new drawing in the next postinginvisible

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Hammer to crack a nut.

My last posting on dishwashers and washing up seems to have generated more traffic than I would have expected, so I make no apologies for keeping on the same theme. I’m fond of tea, and unlike coffee I’m not that particular about the brew type. As a Lancastrian  I am forced to admit that my present favourite claims to come from Yorkshire. I suspect that is where they put it in the box rather than there being fields of tea collectors taking the delicate leaves from a south facing slope in Barnsley.

I do insist that it is brewed in the pot,even if it’s just for me, but at the end of the day it is a cheap teabag blend. I also tend to stack a line of teacups in close proximity to myself nearby my desk. So there’s a gathering of empty mugs. Perhaps there’s a collective name for that, how about a “heckmondwhike” of mugs. So the phrase may be: “Oh there you go again, making a complete heckmondwike in your little office, there’s so many I can barely see out of the window. You’d better get them in the dishwasher before too long”.

Answer: “There would never be a heckmondwike before the invention of dishwashers, so it’s your fault for buying one of those infernal machines. In the good old days we just had a cuppa and then we washed up the mug, and we only had two of them until the kids came along.Now we’ve got enough to make the biggest heckmondwike south of Barnsley. If you ask me it’s all just a hammer to crack a nut”

( The last line being the excuse to put in this drawing that I found in a drawer just a few days ago, beyond the heckmondwike.)hammernut1sf )

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Kettles on!

It was some years ago and in Manchester where I was a student at the art college.

I had gone to bed and it must have been about 2 in the morning when I was awoken by the most enormous sound of the crashing metal, as a car outside came to a sticky end.It was one of those moments when you cannot remember jumping out of bed as it was done almost automatically.

Rushing to the front door my flatmate and I peered into the street to see the remains of the car just a few yards away.Small pieces of the vehicle were still rolling off it as we stared at the wreckage. It was followed by almost complete silence, save for the sound of steam coming from a fractured radiator.

Then a door opposite opened and a portly gentleman had come to the door encased in dressing gown tied firmly in place under the nipples.

People had gathered around the vehicle to help the unfortunate driver, there was low sound of concern and persons asking if an ambulance had been summoned, when portly neighbour boomed out ” KETTLE’S ON!”

My flatmate looked at me and we came to the conclusion that there was little we could do to help as all available help was at hand and that the unfortunate victim would soon be imbibing our neighbour’s tea and  would be cured of any injuries sustained in the accident, plus any diseases that he had before.

Let it pour!

The cure-all.
The cure-all.