In a fit of blogging frustration, I asked (well, perhaps a more accurate term would be “wailed pathetically”) to Lori that I didn’t know what to write about.

You see, the dissertation is now officially written. It is bound and sitting on the bookshelf in all its official-hardback glory. I feel a little like I have poured my whole mind into those pages, and now, when I have all the time in the world to blog, my words have run dry.

Anyway, Lori proceeded to offer me a selection of writing prompts.

“Write about someone who inspires you.”

“Write about what you would do with your life if you had all the confidence in the world.”

Those are pretty inspiring prompts, I suppose. But amongst these pearls of imagination there was this one:

“Write about warm drinks.”

Now that is a true writing prompt.

So to prove that, despite my quizzical look and laughter in the moments immediately following this suggestion, I think it’s a wonderful idea, I have decided to write about warm drinks.

I wish I drank coffee. That, I suppose, could be akin to saying “I wish I ate more chocolate” or even “I wish I smoked,” since coffee is hardly the healthiest of refreshments. But I love the smell and the taste. I want to sit in a café in a hat and gloves with ice-cold fingers warming around a giant Central Perk-style mug of steaming coffee. The problem is, after a few sips I get a little – how should I put this? – light-headed and giddy? As the bottom of the cup draws closer the nausea sets in. Sounds get louder. Lights are too bright. It’s not good.

But I love coffee. Especially a giant mocha with whipped cream. Perhaps a shot of caramel. Heavenly.

However, in the absence of coffee, I am always glad to be English. Earl Grey tea is Britain’s gift to the universe. I like it really hot: just-out-of-the-kettle hot. Too much milk cools it too much. Lori always has to wait a few minutes before that first sip; meanwhile she looks at me as if to say ‘are you human?’ as I slurp away. I love the burning sensation as it goes down. I am firmly of the belief that hot tea is the universal panacea for all ills.

But it has to be a “grey” kind. Earl or Lady will do. English Breakfast is only acceptable in dire emergencies (i.e. lack of any grey types over an extended period, plus lack of transportation to take me to the nearest store that sells the grey types). Oh, and it has to be Twinings, which apparently makes me a snob. “No,” I hear someone saying. “What makes you a snob is that you only like the British Twinings and complain that the American Twinings isn’t as good…” *Ahem*

Having given my paean to hot drinks, I must add a short disclaimer. I can’t stand hot fruity drinks. I think they remind me of being little and having colds or the flu. My throat would refuse to swallow the hot Ribena Mum would make for me. It’s funny how we associate things back to bad childhood experiences. Mum had no idea she was barring me of any ability to ever enjoy herbal tea.

So, there we go. I wrote about warm drinks.

Hopefully this will serve as a breakthrough on my days of silence, and the next post will be slightly more exciting.