just don't invite the madhatter

I recently received a message from a dear friend of mine (famously known for her dashing wit, affinity for snowmen, and impressive knowledge of all things pertaining to Seinfeld) containing a single line:

"One question: How is the tea?"

Really Ginny Joseph. In England that is the equivalent of asking me to summarize the French Revolution with bits both before and after thrown in just for kicks.

Tea is really just THAT much of a defining cultural and social activity here in England. In fact, I bet the English drink more tea per capita than anyone else in the world.

I was wrong.

Apparently, Iraq heralds a first for tea consumption per capita according to some sources, while others claim that the Turkish and Irish are the greatest tea consumers. Apparently, it all comes down to what you call "tea."

Whatever.

Back to English tea: I like it. A lot. One of my new favorite pastimes is having tea with my stairmates as a well-timed study break, which if I had my way would occur every other hour throughout the day.

I also recently had the semi-terrifying experience of having tea with my tutor. My last tute was rescheduled to 9:30 am at my tutor's charming cottage in the St. Anne's principal lodgings. Unfortunately, that morning I chose to live out every college student's nightmare and slept through my alarm by thirty minutes. Charming. In a superhuman effort, I managed to make it to the lodgings EXACTLY on time through a labyrinth of ghastly drizzle, newspaper sellers, and suicidal bikers. I'm still recovering. At the door I was greeted by the smiling nanny who took one look at me and insisted I warm myself with a pot of tea in the library/dining room (there was a ladder for the bookshelves!). She also brought me biscuits. My love of biscuits almost outweighs my love of tea. Almost. So yes, my one class of the day was an hour over tea and biscuits in my tutor's home.

Pretty wicked, I know.