You are cordially invited to a long dark teatime of the soul

I have decided that since this occupies a significant portion of my waking hours, it is worthy of being the subject matter of my first post. I like tea.

It was not always so. I moved to England two years ago, having little regard for what then seemed to me to be a flavourless drink consumed more for its value as a tradition than as a beverage. Perhaps this also reflected my low regard for tradition. In this country, there is no bacchanal too great to be resolved by the sacred 'cuppa'.

I learned this lesson well by living for the last couple of years with a girl who is half Egyptian and half English, meaning that she has had a double dose of cultures which enshrine tea-drinking. In such an atmosphere, especially with a Pakistani housemate who likewise shared the ritual and often supplied the necessary accessory of chocolate-coated biscuits, it was only a matter of time for me.

Bent on resisting conversion at first, I stocked ASDA brand tea for the odd occasion that a guest might request the frowned-upon hot drink. I was a committed coffee drinker, not even including milk at that. Yet the frequency with which the tea was brewed in my kitchen would have been enough to wear down the strongest mind and body, and I have never been known for great physical discipline in any case. The temptation was increased with the introduction of a tea of which I had never heard. The exotic was enough to arouse my interest. They called it 'Earl Grey'.

Oh yes, indeed, I was plunged into the world of tea not by just any builder's brew. No. It was the mother (or rather, father) of all snobby teas, an aromatic experience in itself: Earl Grey. How could I stand a chance? I have been weak, forgive me, I have been weak. And now, I am hooked.

To the great amusement of friends and family, I come on vacation to Trinidad a slave to the drink I previously despised and they currently brand as 'British'. Daily, I take up the cross of being laughed 'Other' and copiously empty cup and cup compulsively. And now I have confessed and am absolved. The kettle is boiling.