I say this because, regardless of the many drinking vessels I have acquired over the years, each and every one of these has purely been a “step up” from the last, towards a perceived eventuality of finding… my perfect mug.
I don’t know how many of you reading this might relate to this humble phenomena, but in a general sweep of the social rumblings, I would be inclined to regard this as true for many others.
Ten years ago I acquired my grandparents’ French Soup Bowls, which are small as bowls go, but large as coffee mugs… um, go. They have handles and also… they have lids.
I felt one of these would be perfect since the function of its lid would keep my tea or coffee warm for much longer periods.
Yet woe betide, I would have a habit of letting it go cold anyway, thus perhaps not a great improvement on my life!
Also, they crack if microwaved too often.
Though for a decade, The French Soup bowl was indeed the divine ruler of all coffee cups throughout all of Simonland.
It has no handle. It has no lid. It’s not… even French. Gosh!
It does however have a prominent personality, its own quiet but invoking expression, a joyfully sea-faring rope-like decoration and a most humbly appetising colour tone.
Oh, make no mistake, I know mugs.
Yep, that’s finally a score.