It rained in the night, and when I got the text saying the climbing was off, I felt a sense of relief, but this was soon followed by disappointment, and the rat starts scratching at the cranium again, and passing the corridors of my restless mind, gnawing at anything it feels needs gnawing, and I turn to drinking tea to save the day, or may be I should thrash out on the bike, scare myself stupid... Or may be not.
One of the great delights of moving to a new country like Norway is discovering the simple homely delights you took for granted in the UK, but are seemingly ignored or just banned over here. This simple find, that filled me with delight, and brought me to tell every Englishmen I could find was a shop selling PG tips, loose tea, in a huge catering (addiction size) bag! I was amazed and felt a feeling of salvation as I bought said PG tips tea, clutching my find to my chest like a teddy bear and headed home for the first real brew in over a year. There is one thing however that really got on my wick! After my great find, the find of the century, I told any Brit I could about the tea bags, to find that everybody new, even my Norwegian teacher about the secret shop, which is actually not very secret at all. Even after months of telling my Norwegian teacher about tea drinking she did not feel the need to tell me that there was a secret shop selling good tea! It was by pure chance I was out on the bike, that I saw with my own eyes the Norwegian teach, walk under her own free will into the PG tips secret shop, and by the way she walked it was clearly evident she had been to that shop before (There was no signs of euphoria or hesitance in the body language that you would expect from a first time buyer). I want let this one go, I have been pushed to say something.... next time I see her... I will unleash another great English tradition.... sarcasm!
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