Back in the kitchen John Hunmphries is trying to wind up some young wet behind the ears boy who has delusions of standing for leader of the Labour party. Meddlesome and Blair get mentioned in the same sentence and I decide to have two sugars in my coffee instead of none. The cats are now claiming that they have never been fed so, while the tea is doing what ever it does for four minutes before you can pour it, I feed them.
Three cups of tea, and a cup of coffee. The coffee stays downstairs. I take the three cups of tea upstairs. First I put one on the table next to Mrs BW's side of the bed. She grunts and snuffles a sort of whatthefucktimedoyoucallthisohitsteathanks" and then falls back into a gentle sleep. The tea will go cold and I will make her another one in thirty minutes. Its a sort of tradition, a ritual almost. Well its better than having an old man in a frock coming to visit and costing £12m. Waste of tea though!
Next stop the Munch. Usually Lilly has sneaked in and deciding that he is cold is lying on top of him. I turn on the light and in a voice slightly louder than needed greet him with "Good morning Munchie cup of tea for you time to think about getting up."
Okay now the tricky one. The Weasel. I nudge open the door and flick the light. Carefully negotiating the discarded clothes (very few of them hers but that's another story), hair straighteners, odd bits of jewellery, discarded cigarette packets, I make it to her bedside table and manage to find a mug sized space for her tea.
"Wake up Wiz, time to get up"
She stirs and looks at me. She does not do mornings. Slightly fearful I beat a hasty retreat. Something crunches under foot.
Back in the kitchen I sip my coffee and listen to Humphries prattling on. There is toast to make and another cigarette to be smoked and a whole day to get through. But at least we've started.