Everything’s getting bigger – burgers, crisp packets, plates, chairs, cornflake packets.
Soon we’re all going to be so fat toilets will be reflective because it’ll be the only chance we have to see our own genitals.
Why, then, do hotel rooms – even quite fancy ones with flat screen tellies and four kinds of tea – still only provide teacups in one, minute size?
After a long, hard day of sightseeing and shopping around London, what do I crave as soon as I bung the plastic thing in the slot? (It still doesn’t sound as good at ‘turning the key’) Is it a free impregnated sponge to make my shoes shine, is it an iron wired into the ironing board, is it a hairdryer wired into the drawer? What about a speakerphone I can use in the bath or free plug-and-go broadish band (although that was actually quite nifty)?
No. What I want is a bloody good cup of tea. Call me a sad Northerner if you must, but nothing satisfies like a proper drink of tea.. in a mug. Or even a big cup, but not a daft wee cup so small you can’t even dunk a chocolate finger in one piece.