Can you imagine life before tea?
If you're a writer (and I know a few drop by here from time to time) you're meant to be able to imagine these things. Go on, close your eyes ... picture yourself waking in the morning, maybe a bit of fur round you and the fire cracking at the door of the cave ... and ... no, there's no tea. Only water, and you have to trek to the river to fetch that. Bet you're snuggling back under those furs, hoping whoever is rolled in furs beside you will wake up and do the water-fetching ... maybe put the kettle on ...
We all know people need clean water, so I'm not going to witter on about that.
And I've travelled to places where it's impossible to find tea, or else it comes in unlikely shapes and flavours (I had a 'tea latte' in Bangkok, which was much tastier than it sounds). But, even when staying in the most remote corners of Nepal, a tiger on my heels, I knew that there was tea in the world - that, in time, I could settle down to a steaming mug of builders' and all troubles would fall away. Knowing the existence of tea makes tea-free days possible.
(For visitors from outside the UK - 'builders' is very strong tea, reputedly loved by construction workers.)
At home, in the comfort of my own bedroom, I have a little kettle (the kitchen is two floors down - too far on a cold morning), and make tea before I'm really awake. I read and drink and let my body adjust to morning. I have, twice, had to have a 'fasting blood test' (no food or drink for hours and hours), and had to crawl to the surgery without even a sip. The whole day was wrong.
It's such a small thing. An everyday thing. I joke about it - but take it completely for granted. I'll be honest, I can't imagine life before tea.
Is there anything in your life that is so much part of who you are that you fear you might fall off the planet without it?