A few years ago I bought a set of two large (500ml) mugs, it was just before Christmas at a market in Cuxhaven, close to where my sister lives. They were handcrafted pottery, one mug red, the other blue and both had off-white polka dots scattered around them.
I loved these mugs and used the red one every day for my copious cups of tea, until, on a very sad day, it broke. A small tear gradually became larger and left a big triangular gap off the rim.
I then used the blue mug, every day it was my friend, my partner, my supplier of brew – never far from my hand it sat patiently waiting to be empty and always willing to be filled again.
But when I came home from teaching yesterday, it was late just past 10pm, a plate slipped from my tired hands and elegantly split my mug in two … oddly the plate stayed intact.
I have to admit a few tears sprang to my, a squeal of despair escaped my lips and tea spilled everywhere. As I mopped up the hot, tea-y mess I couldn’t help but feel my heart fill with woe and wonder where I’m going to find a replacement?