The ritual.

What is it about toast and tea in England?

Why is it that, in the morning, I find this little joy in making dry toast? I never cared much for dry toast in the states. When it's gray, as it likes to be for stretches here, there is something about warm, dry toast, that stokes some sort of inner fire.

Couple it with tea. I go to work and set about a tea ritual, which I do twice a day. First, in the morning, when it's quiet and I have the electric kettle all to myself. I set about picking up in the kitchen and making the developers coffee, and once that is sorted the hot water is ready. I stick the little bag in and put a spoon on top to push it down. Then, I look out at the bike racks and watch the cars and people peddle in. In the afternoon almost witness the opposite. Developers cleaning their coffee cups and seeing the cars and people peddle away. Sort of like some little cycle of life punctuated by hot beverage.

All the while I am taking in some strange English comforts. Things like this I know I won't do once it's time for me to go home, whenever that is decided. Nonetheless, like the grass being so green here and picnicking being a type of leisure sport, I will take it on. I will relish it. And that, as they say, is that.