Well, here's one for the expert tea-drinkers…


…in tonight’s mish-mash of SFX (rather over-done if you ask me!) it seems that ClarriE.Coli-luv was molly-coddling her poor Wywyum by pouring him a cuppa, and giving a running commentary for the benefit of the listening audience as she pours, “…here’s your tea, Wywyum (SFX - tea being poured from pot) milk (SFX - milk being poured from clinking bottle) and two sugars (plop plop)…” which brings me to my important point:

Are you a Milk in first, or a Milk in last person?

…was that the precocious Rosie babbling away as she and her mother left the scene?
Which reminds me, just how old is the sprog?


Milk first here





Milk? In My Tea?


Milk first as it saves your bone porcelain cups from cracking as the hot tea is poured


…in the GrundgieKitchen? …yeah, right! :laughing:


Milk in last, because a teabag sitting in the milk at the bottom of a mug is a depressing sight.


(in best Lady Bracknell voice) “…a teabag!:confounded:


Live with it.

If I am drinking tea of my own it is obscure (and expensive) leaf teas in a teaball, steeped and drunk with neither milk nor sugar.

For the tea shared by all and sundry it is bleedin teabags and no mess. Fond though I am of Sundry.


I well remember as a nipper, back in the early days of tea-bags, armed with a pair of scissors, being soundly chided for freeing the object of my granny’s desire from the constraint of those teeny-weeny little bags, “…well, Gran, how was I to know that’s how it comes now?”


For ye-olde tea-bagge it has to be milk last as the tea has to be assaulted by boling water. It wouldn’t be possible to properly brew it. I know some fancy ‘so called’ teas play under fancy rules but I try to ignore their existence.

For tea in the pot it would be a matter of choice I guess but milk in the cup seems sensible enough.

My first experience of tea bags was on a day trip to Southport with mum, dad, 2 brothers & the appalling grandma (dad’s mum). Sitting near the children’s pleasure beach (the ‘Peter Pan’ which connected to the big one by a wonderful mini steam train, past the pitch & put & the great boating lake) dad went for drinks & returned muttering about “bloody tea bags … never catch on … just sweepings off the factory floor”. Well, I don’t know if it’s too early to be sure but I think he may have misjudged that one.


This has been researched…