A Blog For Dad: My Tea Drinking Inspiration

This is a photograph of my lovely Dad with his parents on the day he married my Mum. He was nearly nineteen, Mum was not even eighteen. They were married for thirty seven years before his death in 2008.

I loved my Dad with a love only a daughter can have for her father. Unconditional, absolute, ever lasting and even after his death, it's a love that continues to grow. And with that brings that unique pain a daughter can have at the loss of her father. Grief, they say, is the price we pay for love.

I was blessed with my Dad. He was superb. Funny, smart, intelligent, hard working and whom put his family first before everything and anything. He slipped easily into role as the cool grandad when the time came and was a doting on his grandson and grandaughter as he was on us.

From my father, I inherited not only a passion for The Beatles (we were Beatles buddies till the very end) but my obsessive, all consuming love for tea.

Of course, I've not always been a tea drinker. I was pushed to the tea side when I realised that drinking vast amounts of coke every day was perhaps not the way to go. But my Dad always said that once I got the taste for tea 'it won't leave you, Lau, it won't'. And it hasn't - as you all know!

Dad inherited his love of tea drinking from his Dad (also pictured). According to Mum, when they lived with my nan and grandad in the early days of their marriage, the kettle or the teapot was never cold. It was one cup after another after another ... rather like it is with me!

My Dad never lived long enough to witness my slip into tea obsession, though if he were here now, or if he's watching over us, he'll find it amusing. Or hysterical!

As a family, tea runs in our veins. For instance, when Dad treated mum and I to a day out, before we even walked around that museum or stately home, we'd have to find the cafe and have a cup of tea. Then we'd have one with lunch. And probably another one before we made it home. When we went on holiday and stayed in a caravan, tea bags were the first thing he packed.             

I'm not totally sure what Dad would of thought of the weird and wonderful tea's I have in my cupboard. Earl Grey would most likely not be for him, and I'm not sure what he'd do with a oolong. But you see, it doesn't really matter at all which tea you drink. It doesn't matter if you buy artisan or supermarket. If you spend  £15 on tea or £2.50. If you get comfort in whatever blend or brand then it's all good really isn't it?

Tea is simply awesome. Tea is simply great. Dad knew it then, and I know it now. But at the same time, there is just a hint of sadness, knowing I'll never share a cup of tea with him. It's kind of bittersweet.

I miss my Dad every day. That sense of loss subsides somewhat, but never leaves you. There are times when I'm desperate for a hug. I'm desperate for that cool, logical mind of his to tell me "everything is going to be alright". Not to worry. Not to fret. 'What's the worse that can happen?'.

I miss him in his just woken up zombie state when he 'just wanted tea'. 

But mostly, I miss him when I'm making a cup of tea. I miss not having the chance to make two.

Even now though, Dad's still guiding me. For without that obsessive love my family have for tea (on the whole we are tea total) I wouldn't be sat here writing now.

I've always been told I'm my fathers daughter. I look so much like him. I don't say much but when I do say something it mean's something, not just idle chatter. And through tea, I resemble him even more.

And never have I been prouder to do so!