Longing and yearning, twisting and turning,
Desires and dreams unravel at their seams,
Tears start to sting, no end to the burning,
Heart and mind at war; a lurch and a roar,
Stomach in knots, painfully churning,
Mouth forming words to start a furore.
Explosions inside where emotions reside,
Containment impossible, no place to hide.
Screaming, shouting, spitting, then crying,
Reason and sanity inexplicably dying,
Relief from expression, regret for confession,
When calm soon follows, in creeps depression,
No retraction of hurt, no clock to turn back,
Control and restraint painfully slack,
Self-loathing abundant for all that you lack.
Silence is golden, but rage is gothic black.
For the second day running, I’ve gone into my local Pret A Manger to buy a cup of English Breakfast tea, only to have the muppet behind the counter tell me that they’ve RUN OUT OF TEA.
What is the world coming to? I can’t even get a tea now? I NEED MY TEA. I can’t get through a day without it. I’m like a car with no petrol. How can I be expected to function without tea? The doughnut behind the counter offered me a herbal tea instead. I don’t want a horrid herbal tea. If I wanted fruit flavoured water I’d just buy a bottle of Ribena, innit?! There’s a blooming Tescos across the road – can’t they just go and buy a pack of tea bags? C’mon. This is a joke. It’s not like they have to go all the way to China to get it. All they have to do is cross the road!
Worse still, I had to go into EAT to buy a tea instead, where they basically place a tea-bag in a paper cup and top it up with hot water. Then the lazy staff tell you that you have to pour in the milk yourself, stir it and place the lid on top… you end up making your own tea! This totally defeats the purpose of going to a coffee shop to pay for some lackey to do it. And the cheeky gits still charge you full price.
By this point, I hadn’t had a tea since I left my home this morning. My nerves were frayed. I felt irritable and grumpy. So what happened when I tried to order my tea in EAT? It took me a full five minutes to get the non-English speaking woman behind the counter to understand that I wanted a cup of English Breakfast tea. She kept saying ‘We no serve brekfass afterrr 10 o clok.” by this point, I’m practically spitting “I don’t want breakfast, I just want a cup of English Breakfast tea!” She’s still not getting it: “We no have English Breakfast, come bak mornin.” There was only one thing for it. I started shouting: “I WANT TEA. TEA. I’M TALKING ABOUT TEA. NOT FOOD. I JUST WANT A CUP OF TEA TO TAKE-AWAY. TEA!” I was about two seconds away from stamping my foot, bursting into tears, curling my fists and rolling around the floor like a little kid having a hissy fit. Just in the nick of time, she said: “Oh, OK. I undystan, you wan cup tea. OK. One cup tea.” And I finally got my tea.
It’s just a shame that after all that effort, I was thinking forget the tea, what I really need now is a shot of brandy…