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Good tea. A lovely light brew, with subtle notes of blueberry floating over delicate, almost honeydew notes from the white. Works well unsweetened or with a spoonful of sugar. Tastes like proper blueberry, which I was worried about when I first tried it, because fake berry flavour is gross. So this didn’t disappoint at all. Delightful.

I feel like I could use something with a bit more gravitas to motivate me to get more done today, so I might do a bit of experimenting in the kitchen. It’s 4 (how the heck is it 4?) and because I woke up to an email telling me that Netflix has added season 5 of Star Trek: The Next Generation, I’ve been a bit, shall we say, preoccupied. Let’s see if I can get that sourdough loaf into the oven, finish 2 paintings, and get started on a couple cozies to put on etsy before I’m out of town on Thursday. OH HELL NO I HAVEN’T EVEN STARTED PACKING panic

Seven’s a bit peculiar, all right. The aroma is subtle, a little roasty, and a little sweet. The yerba mate lends a little richness, with sweet top notes from the honeybush, and a bright hazelnut finish. It’s still a rather light-bodied blend, though, and you can totally forget it’s there and accidentally steep for like 8 minutes and it won’t get bitter – not even mildly resentful.

Does it count as breakfast if it’s your first cup of the day, even though it’s half past 1 in the afternoon and you’ve been up for 3 hours but have only just brought yourself to leave bed?

Oh yeah, so last night I dreamt about tea. Basically, for some reason my high school drama teacher (one of those stereotypical older theatrical types – a slightly camp little pepperpot with one of those little goatees to make him look extra-artsy) was there, and I think he was trying to convince me to have a fling with him, albeit unsuccessfully. I dismissed him from my family home because I was just interested in a new tea called Golden Honeybee. Is this a tea? In my dream, it was luscious.

This standard Assam can be nothing but a disappointment in comparison to the memory of the brew of my dream; that being said, for what it is, it serves its purpose admirably. Bit heavily tannic on the end, though maybe that’s how I’m brewing it. It’s full-bodied with not quite as much maltiness as I like in an Assam, but it’ll do. Yes, it’ll do indeed. It must be a pretty good basic brew, as I apparently hoovered the entire mug in the space of like 10 minutes. Quite so, quite so.

Now let’s see if I can complete 8 hours of illustrating (and desperately applying for every temp admin job going – SOMEBODY HIRE ME ALREADY, I CAN’T AFFORD TO LIVE) in the space of 4, because I’m meeting some former workmates from my last contract tonight and I probably should have started working in the morning. Whoops.

First: why do I have oolong teabags? The whole idea is anathema to my being. They must have been out of the loose leaf. I must have been desperate.

Second: what am I smelling as this brews? Something brown. Smoke? Burn? Chicory, definitely chicory. It’s like somebody threw some of my mum’s evening coffee substitute in with the tea leaves in here. This carries over into the flavour too, over the usual sort of leafy, autumnal flavour typical of this kind of oolong, and something that reminds me of, I dunno, the smell of fish food maybe? But the memory of feeding fishies in my kitchen in the 80s when I was very little. Confusing.

All things considering, it’s all right, but not mind-blowing.

Now I really need to stop procrastinating and finish this painting commission of Jo Grant escaping from a space prison.

What a sexy beast. The fragrance is redolent of nuts and spice, with a curious afterscent reminiscent of basmati rice. When brewed – with plenty of hot soymilk and a bit of sugar – the chai spice comes through nicely, tempered by the round softness and almost buttery richness of the hazelnut. I wasn’t sure how this combination would work, but somehow it really does, like Six’s blustery cuddleness, really. It’s hard to describe why this is such a magical combination, but it’s impossible not to love. As if Six could be anything but perfect, a sentiment with which I have no doubt he would agree wholeheartedly. Whoops, my fandork is showing.

Imagine what you think the most delicious beige could taste like: that’s Five tea.

(Beige is a flavour now, shh)

I should confess that most of my favourite flavours are in the beige spectrum, and as such, I knew instantly that I was going to fall in love with this one. The first thing that hits you out of the bag is almond, which slowly gives way to the sweet aroma of creamy caramel. The tea itself is bright, sweet, and comforting, with a silky caramel finish. Not surprisingly, I take mine with milk and sugar, and it’s heavenly: sweet, but not cloying, subtle, but decidedly present, with underlying strength. Tastes just like running your hands through Five’s soft blonde duckfluff feels.

I got this as a sample ages ago, tried it, and apparently totally forgot subsequently, so I really didn’t know what kind of an oolong I was in for when I decided to give it another go today. And then I oversteeped it by about 3 minutes, as I got distracted watching Doctor Who and applying for jobs. But then when I jumped up, said a few words I shan’t repeat in polite company, and finally prepared my tea (with lashings of milk and sugar, naturally) it was still good! It’s got that sort of leafy granola flavour one associates with oolongs, and a nice, smooth body with a bit of gentle astringency. Not too shabby, considering I could conceivably have ruined it in my scatterbrained neglect of it. Yay!

Silly is a good descriptor for this tea indeed! I can’t believe it took me so long to discover that if you type in the Konami code on Adagio’s site, they throw a little tin of this ridiculous tea in with your order. It’s adorable. How is a tea company so flipping cute? As to the tea itself, I just made a cup, and prepared the way I usually do for black teas of this type (sweet and milky) it’s a bit of a sprinkly sugar bomb, but I’m intrigued by the idea of blending it with one of my more full-bodied plain black teas to give it just a little extra razzle-dazzle. I do like me some razzle-dazzle.

Four is a grown-up tea that’s not afraid to be a little childish. I was met with the sweet, curranty scent of the fruits when I opened the bag first, definitely fruity but a touch more mature than an actual packet of jelly babies would have been. If anything, when brewed it’s reminiscent of that cozy, brown console room that Four was fond of hanging out in for a time. Not overly sweet on its own in spite of the presence of three kinds of fruit (which blend seamlessly and harmoniously together with the bright black tea, and, given the fruit’s respective colours, may best be reflected in the Doctor’s giant burgundy scarf) but eminently drinkable without sugar for those so inclined. For the sugarly inclined, such as I, two spoonfuls elevates it to absolute perfection. Goes down as smooth as Tom Baker’s voice, with a lightly tannic finish.

Hot jam, Three is jam hot! Starts with a fierce karate-chop of almost jammy citrus and fruit aromas, and asserts itself smoothly in the cup, like warm velvet, with a slightly tannic finish. Tart orange and hibiscus balance the sweetness of the cherry. A sharp tongue, and a warm heart. Splendid, my dear fellow.