You! Yes… I’m talking to you. You know who you are, sitting there with your half brewed cup of steaming milk, the greyish white colour blending into some sickly twisted horror movie.
“I’ll make this round,” you said.
“Two sugars?” You asked.
If only I had known, realised the horror that was to commence then maybe, just maybe I could have stopped it. Kettle boiling I watched you put that poor, innocent tea bag into the cup. Then you drowned it in chilled milk. How could you? Everything is lost, everything is ruined, you have disappointed me, your family, and the British.