I like tea. I drink an awful lot of it. But somehow, recently, with neither effort nor intent, I’ve found that I’ve become a coffee convert?! This troubles me somewhat.
It all began whilst on a short break in Europe. The climate was so cold, I initially drank coffee as a mere body-warming and brain-waking tool – frothy cappuccinos and creamy caramel lattes from a cosy sofa-filled café are too delicious to resist when it’s snowing outside and you’ve been on your feet for hours. I would have usually opted for tea, naturally, but on the continent there wasn’t always that choice available, or at least not to the same standard that I’d have in England. So, before I knew it, my tongue grew accustomed to the alternative and I started to crave coffee constantly: a comfort for frozen fingers; a wake-up buzz; a boost for weary bones; a specific desire for the unique taste that I had seemingly acquired without even realising.
