Sometimes there are thoughts that lie latent within us; thoughts that we do not want to acknowledge. For example, you know your girlfriend/boyfriend/husband/wife (or ‘partner’, as people seem inexplicably to say nowadays) is cheating on you, but you carry on with the pretense that everything is OK. Or you know that the band you used to love are now pretty much shit, but you still go around telling people that there is no reason why their early music cannot accurately be described as ‘punk’, and good punk at that. Or you know that your metabolism is not quite as good as it used to be, but you still eat pretty much what the hell you want and do no exercise, because you will probably be fine (all the while ignoring the fatty deposits slowly but undeniably accruing around your midriff). Or you know that Keats is boring, and that you don’t understand what the hell the consumptive child is blathering on about, but you try to read it nonetheless, so people will think you are well brooding and sensitive.
OR YOU KNOW THAT FRUIT TEA IS CRAP, BUT YOU DRINK IT ANYWAY.
Well, no more, people. Let’s wake from our slumber, and bring the following out into the open: fruit tea is rubbish. Total, pointless garbage. If you want tea, then have tea; if you want fruit, then have fruit – although read this salutary note of caution – but please: never the twain shall meet.
Why do people get lured in by fruit tea? Well, it must be admitted that it smells pleasant. But I struggle to think of anything which displays a greater disparity between smell and taste. Fruit tea tastes of precisely nothing. It doesn’t matter, pomegranate, blueberry, citrus – it is all a gustatory black hole. In a way, the fact that it smells nice makes the whole experience even worse, because you have been lured in with false promises. It is a bit like having a really interesting conversation with someone who seems to understand and empathise with your problems, only to discover that all along they were just trying to get you to join the Church of Scientology.
You probably don’t want to believe any of this. I’m sure that, upon concluding this article (because that is what this is) you will break open the ‘Ode To A Grecian Urn’ and pour yourself a fruit tea (see what I did there? SEE WHAT I DID THERE????). But all the while this article, and the undeniable truths therein, will tug at the depths of your psyche like a small child tugging at the hem of your garment. And, if you look hard enough, you will discover the futility of all existence.
Or at least of fruit tea.