I can count on one hand how often I have a hot drink in any given year. The British, certainly the Scottish, way is that everyone, but everyone, does either tea or coffee, sometimes both. I don’t. If I take a hot drink at all, I would take a hot chocolate. If absolutely pushed, I would choose tea but that happens on average once every two or three years. I’m autistic and one of my sensory sensitivities is food and drink that is too hot. Plus coffee is rank but that’s nothing to do with the complications of my noggin. It’s just rank. It smells nice but it tastes like metal filings, whatever is put in it.
Very often, whenever I go to training courses or cover somewhere new, I get told two things. Where the toilets are and where the tea and coffee are kept. I usually am grateful for the first but roll my eyes at the second, looking around for alternative liquid. I can think of two courses this year alone when I had to nip out and buy juice. In a place I don’t know, I have come to expect there will be minimal provision for the increasing number of folk who don’t bother with tea or coffee. I get told with considerable frequency after I say I don’t like tea or coffee that this one’s young relative or that one doesn’t take tea or coffee either. Yet people don’t cater for that. We live in a binary world, apparently. So, the rest of us have to bring our own.
Having said that, in the last few weeks, I’ve actually had more hot drinks than I have in years. It’s been cold plus I wasn’t feeling well last week. I indulged in rancid Lemsip substitutes and very much better hot Vimto, even if that’s less nice when accidentally spilled over one’s hand when trying to sit down at the football. At another football match, I had no fewer than two cups of hot chocolate in a futile attempt to keep warm. I can’t take hot drinks when they’re freshly made. Usually 10-15 minutes does me to get it into the Goldilocks zone. I understand that whisky needs to be savoured and drunk slowly in most cases. A hot drink is much the same for me. I like to taste it. With Lemsip or its imitators, however, there’s only a brief window when they’re sort-of hot and acceptable and then they go cold and absolutely honking. These have to be rushed, against my mouth and particularly my tongue’s better judgement.
Before you think I treat my body as a temple, in common with most denizens of the library world, and the museum world before that, I run on sugar. Chocolate, mainly. I don’t do much fizzy juice any more. I love Irn Bru but drinking it too late in the day keeps me up at night. Plus my IBS has been triggered by very fizzy juice in the past. I don’t do energy drinks either since they smell awful. If I need a hit of caffeine, I will go for a can of Coke but again that’s not so often.
At social functions, too, the choices can often be binary. I was at something recently and when I walked in, the choice was a glass of Prosecco or orange juice. I don’t like wine so orange juice was the default choice, even though I prefer apple myself as orange can be quite acidic. Later in the evening there was a bit more choice in the sense that there was red and white wine kicking about but still only the one non-alcoholic choice, good old OJ.
I appreciate that times are tough. There isn’t money to fund options for every taste. But something beyond the two choices, be that tea or coffee or alcohol and fruit juice, wouldn’t be hard. There’s only so many bottles of Oasis that can be smuggled into training courses without folk getting offended, or thinking I’m an alkie. Plus there must be tea and coffee sufferers who might want a change. Make it happen, folks.