The pot’s run dry. Stocks have run out. I knew this teasaster was coming but did nothing, ignored the warning signs of stocks dwindling to alarming levels and continued my insatiable drinking without thought for tomorrow’s cup. Tomorrow arrived today and the cup’s gone to pot. The pot’s looking at me expectantly but there ain’t nothing for the cup. There ain’t nothing for the pot. There ain’t nothing for no one.
I could write teason on a piece of paper and attempt to blame others for my selfish ways, but really de fault’s all mine. I should have placed an order for fresh supplies weeks ago but kept stalling, letting the situation brew. I can have no grounds for complaint.
This tragedy leaves me strained to say the leaf. No options left, only to turn to the Germans for a cup out. Their Echter Ostfriesen-Tee from Bünting is the only thing I can get. Bad medicine. It’s shite compared to real tea but will have to tide us over while I wait for the real stuff to arrive.
I’ve placed the last (emergency) tea order for the year. Enough to get us through to Dec. 19 when we’ll be going back to Ireland personally to get more supplies. We’ll take advantage of the miserable yet bearable (by comparison) climate there to thaw out from the Berlin winter for a brief period before returning for more punishment, albeit made more bearable with fresh supplies of tea. Jenny and Nippity will be returning on Dec. 27, while I’ll stay a few more days to catch up with long lost comrades and some shorter ones too, before returning on Dec. 31 in time for the debauchery and fireworks of Silvester, when Berlin goes even madder than normal. Long or short comrades are welcome to join me while party invitations need not be shy either.