The aged Wales. Puts on a show...

Its the time of the year where the cockles of your life would be warmend my insidious and whimsical old chesnuts whispered from your doting old dhandi of a grandparent. Something about 'cake' or how 'trees were so much cheaper' and 'food was so much greener'. Having only one grandparent living in Wales, i have been reluctant to talk to them. I cannot even begin to think of the last time i was contacted. This may seem ludicrous and profoundly disturbing, a something year old almost-man talking about his grandthing, but i may remind you that i am slightly drunk, and that my tea has been soiled by a soggy biscuit. thats not a metaphor. thats horrible, horrible truth..... Which brings me neatly onto the subject of tea. The simple east-Indian leaf has always been a feature in my life. It was almost the cabbage of my early age, in the respect that I hated it even more the the actual cabbage of my early age. which was in fact...cabbage. I digress. The fact of the matter is, I have grown a fondness for this repellent, dirty coloured water. It has a taste, if brewed properly for a time (I don't know it. Its a tad hit and miss at the best of times for me) that would allow the full flavour.. to permeate the ancient net, that allows me to become relaxed for an indiscriminate period of time. All im saying is that tea has become such a synonomous part of my life that it stands to rankings with my ridiculous horn-rimmed glasses. Or my equally ridiculous shirts. Or the ridiculous behavior I seem to persist in. So in conclusion, Im fine. If im quiet, its because Im relaxed. If my eyes are closed, Im either asleep or dead. Dont try and wake me, I wont be happy in either case.