I DRINK MORE THAN MY APARTMENT MATE

Before I got a cell-phone (to replace the land-line aparatus, MCI having finally proven totally unreliable), the tide of selfies on the internet was incomprehensible. Having had a cellphone now for five months or so, it is still incomprehensible. Except on the pipe-smokers forums.
Where a whole bunch of handsome middle-aged gentlemen share pictures of themselves enjoying a bowlful of tobacco, and perhaps a cup of tea or the company of a hound.

Dogs, as is well-known, enjoy the manly smell of a pipe.
It reminds them of their grandfather.

This blogger does not have a canine companion, and I enjoy tea so frequently that it seems pointless to photograph a steaming cup. Tea is, in fact, the great anti-social lubricant.
Go away, I'm having tea, this is quiet time.

When I'm at work it's six or seven cups of Pu Erh, on my days off three or four cups of a strong dark brew with milk and a little sugar. My apartment mate starts the day sometimes with a cuppa, and may have another cup in the evening if it's been a trying day at the office.



I note, by the way, that a number of the cigar smokers whom I know are easily traumatized day time alcoholics. Which is quite natural, as the taste of a cheroot goes better with rum than a hot beverage, and they're sitting on kittens because of the election season.
Their tender nerves are frayed.



In five weeks, they can give their livers a rest, although if everything turns out okay, with their reprehensible political leanings they'll have every reason to drink themselves into oblivion.
Or drunkenly cause serious harm to themselves.

With my encouragement, of course.




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