The normal modus operandi when blogging is to prop myself up in bed with a million pillows. Oh okay I exaggerate. There are six regular rectangular jobbies and a V-shaped one. To help the creative process I sup tea from my big stripy Cornishware mug. The tea drinking continues during throughout the day. But it's quite rare that I partake of coffee. Sometimes I'll go for a few weeks without any passing my lips.
That's not to say that I don't love the stuff. when it's made properly of course. It's lush in all its various guises. I adore a double shot espresso, cappuccino with chocolate dust, a flat white and an americano with a dash of cold milk. Even good instant, cuts the mustard, although there's probably afficionados who doubt that this exists. So why aren't I treating myself more often? It's a question that I asked myself the other day.
When I was a teenager I was a coffee addict. I used to drink about twelve cups a day. No wonder I was a bit anxious! My consumption has dwindled to occasional over the years. I see coffee as a treat, a bit naughty. It gives me much more exaggerrated caffeine hit that gentle tea. I particularly remember a trip on a ferry to Bainbridge Island off Seattle where I imbibed from what seemed like a bucket of Starbucks. My head was as buzzy as can be!
When I was living in the motorhome I bought myself one of proper stove top coffee pots. Now it sits by my cooker now but has been redundant. It's what the Italians use so if it's good enough for those geezers it must make a decent brew. Perhaps I need to dust it off and bring out my inner barista more often. It's good to ring the changes.