One of the strangest symptoms consequential of my mum’s dementia is a her new found love for a china cup she recently found at the back of a kitchen cupboard. “Nothing weird there, Gary!….. Lot’s of people, especially those in their dotage, are very fond of a brew in a fine bone china cup.”, I hear you cry.
An observation as steeped in fact as Maggie’s tea bags are steeped in boiling water. But as this mug’s the ugliest drinks receptacle I ever seen in my life, it has to be said, I’ve reservations about this new maternal lifestyle choice.
From its aesthetically displeasing round top and square base combo, muddled and ugly design, to the fact it’s big enough to house a bunch of flowers, I find this crime against bone china mugs utterly offensive.
On hearing my disparaging diatribe about her cup preference, mum responded with an upbeat observation of “You can get loads of tea in it, Gary.“……. GJ Strachan’s response you’d get a shed load of tea in the bucket used to wash windows, but I wouldn’t make a brew in it, currently falling on deaf ears.
Footnote – On reflection, using the words ‘a shed load of tea’ is a poor idiom on my part. After all, unless the shed was water tight, tea would leak all over the place. A swimming pool of tea would be a significantly more valid and accurate phrase…... Unless, of course, the pool also has a leak.
I’ve not got to the bottom of any catalyst behind mum’s recent decision to drink cups of ‘Rosie Lee’ from this unattractive vase. With her having a multitude of other drinking receptacles to chose from, I can only put this behaviour down to cognitive muddle borne from suffering dementia.
However, my disparaging opinions about this unsightly item are only making Maggie dig her heels in – Seemingly further driving her resolve at incorporating the bone china John Merrick as part as her day to day existence.
She mutters something about the mug having sentimental value – I believe the wife of her old boss gave her it one Christmas as a gift. I can only assume it’s from a set and the bosses missus bequeathed the plates to clay pigeon shooters to use as practise discs.
Anyhow, just having to lay eyes on this crockery carbuncle, while it languishes on the kitchen worktop or mug tree detracts from my daily esprit levels. Like the sound from Quint (the shark fisher’s) running his nails down a blackboard to attract Amity Island dignitaries, in the movie Jaws, its presence emotionally raises my hackles.
It’s admittedly a first world problem, but seeing this cup disturbs me as much as when first witnessing Daleks in 1970’s episodes of Doctor Who, as a kid…… Sadly, though, as there’s no settee to hide behind in the kitchen, negating against this unseemliness is more difficult under prevailing conditions.