Whittards are da bomb.
At the end of last year, I broke three of my four huge latte mugs. I love latte mugs, they hold a whole lot of caffeine goodness, unlike those pathetic regular sized mugs that only hold the amount of coffee it takes to wake up my big toe.
The only thing I wanted for Christmas was a set of latte mugs. I waited with anticipation for two months dreaming of the day when I would only make three coffees before midday instead of spending the morning flicking the kettle switch over and over to only be rewarded with a thimble of goodness. The inconvenience was hard to bear.
On Christmas Eve, knowing that I would be alone the next morning, my parents gave me a few presents to open at home. As soon as I picked them up I knew, it was obvious, one of the parcels contained latte mugs. I placed the present back in the bag and cradled it like a baby, said my goodnight, stepped into the car and promptly dropped them on the driveway. I froze in horror, shit, did anyone see that? Luckily there were no witnesses to the crime, it was time to make a swift get away.
As you've probably guessed, when I opened the parcel the next morning, my what once were gorgeous flowered latte mugs, were now smashed to smithereens and I've spent every day since lying about their existence. Did you like the mugs? They're gorgeous mum, gorgeous. I hope they were big enough? Yes, yes they're prefect, just what I needed, because I know if I tell the truth I will never hear the end of it and neither will the three generations below me in a hundred years time and I already have enough awkward story material to last me a lifetime thank you very much.
Finally, today, I bought some more of those huge vessels of goodness in the sale, £1.50 each, result! Of course they look nothing like the original versions, but that's OK, in six months time they will have forgotten they even bought them for me. But then again, no-one expects any of my breakable possessions to survive more than a few months, it's a widely known fact and a very handy reputation to have, especially with regard to those bloody awful candle holders a neighbour bought me last year. I have roughly six weeks to go before I sneak them down the charity shop and then falsely claim clumsiness.
