I’ve spent my adult years fighting to pay the bill, drinking insultingly weak cups of tea and making small talk on the bus. But life is too short
S
unday lunch guests often check in the day before, but this text was different. Rather than making sure of the time, or wondering what to bring, it was a bold, direct question. “Is it cold in your house?”
I stared at my phone screen in awe. This was revolutionary. I’ve been freezing in so many homes, but it had never occurred to me to make temperature inquiries in advance so I could wear a thicker jumper or thermals. Even if I’d had the idea, I probably wouldn’t have followed through for fear of appearing rude, preferring instead to slowly lose the feeling in my toes. But here was proof that, for a host, this kind of query is welcome – after all, most people want their guests to be comfortable and have a nice time, unless they’re a dominatrix.
The message reminded me of a similar incident a few weeks before. I’d offered somebody a cup of tea and they’d smiled and said: “I’d love one, thanks, but I’m really particular about how I take my tea,” and then explained exactly how they wanted it. I was staggered – and haunted by the memory of the many weak, milky cups of torture I’d politely endured in the past. I’m also particular about how I take my tea – who isn’t? – but I’ve never thought to mention it in such detail. Again, if I had, I would have worried I’d be seen as demanding and difficult, rather than someone giving our national drink the respect it deserves.
