How To Drink The Bridgewater Canal...

Blessed be Our Lady of the Sorrows

1 decent sized mug. A pint mug is best
Teabags
Milk
Sweeteners/sugar  to taste - nothing else belongs in tea

A kettle

Some water

A teaspoon

A bin

Apparently, my writing style resembles "a passive-aggressive teenager wat think's (sic) they're clever", and I should just lighten up. 

To that end:

    Q: Why did Karl Marx drink fake tea? 

    A: Because all proper tea is theft. 

Jokes hate me. They refuse to be funny when I tell them. 

I was going to begin by saying I was born into an old Mancunian family obsessed with the holy sacrament of tea. Upon rising, before even thinking about parting with one's morning wine, adherents felt a compulsion to put the kettle on. The resulting brew would lift the spirits, inspire the soul, and keep you astonishingly regular. It also resembled the Bridgewater canal at Worsley, and would turn new dentures a shade of teak faster than the accompanying Players Navy Cut. It was Proper Tea. Builder's Tea. You could stand spoons up in it. 

11am mandated a devotional top up for the soul. Lunch (pronounced "Dinner") followed at about 1pm, accompanied by a first cup of tea to wash it down, and a second to make sure it stayed there. 3pm was the next devotional stop on the stations of the bush, this time with a biscuit from The Tin.

Dinner (pronounced "Tea") would be consumed at 6pm with a further two cups - one with the main meal, the second washing down a bowl of dessert (pronounced "Afters"). Topping off the day would be a final act of devotion at 8pm. On Monday and Wednesday, this would be taken after receiving lessons from the Book of St Deirdre of the Sorrows.

To understand what manner of beverage led families across God's great city to such devotion, we must begin at the beginning. 

I want you to go now and stand in the doorway to your kitchen, if indeed you possess such a thing. If not, leave the tent and peer back into the abyss of your life. Close your eyes. Without peeking, where are your tea bags? 

Are they in a massive airtight caddy with a complicated wire closure mechanism forcing the lid into an airtight seal, and which constantly needs refilling? Or do they cower in their flimsy cardboard box at the back of a high shelf in the tins cupboard, shivering like reluctant schoolboys on a frosty sports field? 

Take up and breathe in thy tea bags. Do they smell satisfyingly rich, earthy, and almost rusty? Or do they smell distinctly flowery? Brew a cup as you normally would. Go on. Take your time. Pretend I'm not judging you. Let the brew cool, and then drink it. 

Tea made with old, stale teabags tastes like flowery cardboard and unsweetened porridge, instead of seducing you with its rich and complex mix of consolation, inspiration, and intestinal fortitude.

Now, pausing momentarily on our magical journey into the obvious, may I ask how you spent the 2020 summer lockdown? I spent much of the time collecting data on brewing tea. To be honest, I deeply regret this now. Anyway, here are the results of my chaste labour. Brews were brewed and rebrewed all summer long to ensure statistical consistency. Because of this, I drank a LOT of tea. I peed so much, I can now whistle tunes through my kidneys.

Tea Bags	Brew Time	Tasting Notes
1 bag	60 seconds	Meh, kind of OK, low tannins
1 bag	120 seconds	Decent strength, medium tannins
1 bag	60 seconds, mashed	Strong and quite smooth, high tannins
2 bags	60 seconds	Smooth, strong, low tannins
2 bags	120 seconds	Oooh, yes, that's really nice.
2 bags	60 seconds, mashed	Very dark (use lots of milk). Lots of flavour, smooth, high tannins
2 bags	120 seconds, mashed	Needs a ton of milk, and even then it's a bit much

These are the most distinct brews of those I tested. "Mashed" means the bags were squeezed out against the inside of the mug with the spoon before removal in the hope they wouldn't drip on the way to the bin. In the other cases, the bag(s) were removed while dripping, as nature intended. 

Please note that in all cases, the brews were allowed to cool for ten minutes before drinking. 

The most delicious result is obviously 2 bags left for two minutes, with the bags removed while dripping. It's lovely. It's full of flavour, yet very smooth. I hereby name this formulation St Deirdre's Tears and may whatever god you bother bless all who sip it. 

The removal of the tea bags makes space for the milk. Clever, eh? Some people still claim that the milk goes into the cup first. It does not. The most satisfying flavours in tea won't get out of bed for anything less than boiling water. How the hell is that supposed to happen if you've swamped everything in ice cold milk? The tannins, however, will turn out to the opening of  letter. So, frankly, you're not helping the situation. Go and sit in the car. Here are the keys. There's a tube of Smarties in the glove compartment. Put the heater on but do NOT touch the radio, OK?

Right, now for the most important step:

DO NOT SIP THE TEA! 

It is not finished yet. Leave the blessed brew to settle and cool for ten whole minutes. This sounds a lot, but trust me, tea needs to be at the perfect temperature for your taste buds to fully appreciate the flavours that are about to fondle them like Greek gods paying homage to the titan you truly are. If you start swigging it before then, the same gods will smite the tip of your tongue with a slight burn. Greek gods do not mess about, which is why Zeus is serving a full life sentence for rape.

While the tea cools, I'll tell you why the Victorians started building staircases with corners. It's not true, but it may amuse the stupid. Try it at your next dinner party, or when your weed dealer finally turns up.

In the late 1830s, a belief developed that the pianos usually found in the parlours of any respectable middle class home might somehow find their way upstairs and in the night and menace the family as they slept. Imagine the terror of waking to find an upright in your face, its ivory teeth grinning manically in the moonlight. What if they got into the nursery? 

To combat this easily-exploited nonsense, many Victorian house designers began putting corners near the bottom of staircases to prevent pianos getting upstairs. The idea was that the errant piano would become stuck trying to negotiate the "piano trap" as it became known. In the morning, a local piano "shifter" would be called to remove the errant machine and take it away to "live on a farm", as the children would be told. They were, in fact, destroyed with hammers back at the yard and the ivory would be melted down to make false teeth. 

What follows is actual footage of such a shifter at work removing a piano. You will note that it was caught in a trap built about half way up the staircase. This became the fashion after about 1860. Please note that this video contains scenes reflecting attitudes from a time that some pianos might find disturbing: 

Note how the wily piano makes a bid for freedom only to be stopped by the Shifter's burly son at te bottom of the stairs. The use of chimpanzees in this dangerous work was finally phased out in the 1980s when it was realised that pianos trying to get upstairs in the night is actually complete nonsense. 

Now then, how are we doing for time? Five minutes remaining? Try wiping down a few surfaces or making a start on that stove top.

Done that? Good. Sip the tea. Nice, isn't it.

Best drink of the day, tea. 

Alcohol notwithstanding, obviously.