Those who have been reading this blog for a while will know that I drink tea. (I often choke on it as I read the more outrageous comments and posts around Blogland) You will also know that I am English, which explains why I drink so much tea. So put all that together with the title of the blog itself, the photo and some past writing and you get a fairly good picture of me. There is a reason for this post but you will have to read on to get to it.
TEA
From about the age of three I have drunk tea. On an ideal day I would have two cups before I did anything. Sadly, my early morning treks to school only allow for one, which is very disturbing, but I keep going knowing I can have a second cup when I get home. Now I don’t know about anyone else but Lipton’s dust does not do it for me. As my dad once put it “it looks like scared water”. When I first came to live here I had no idea how difficult it would be to get a decent cuppa. It got so bad at one point I switched to coffee in the morning and believe me, that’s radical and didn’t last long. One day I ventured into Marks and Spencer (not a shop I frequent) and discovered that they sold extra strong English teabags. Yes, they ship it all over the world but who can afford to do that? Imagine my joy. It was a short bus trip to the centre and I would be tea-bagged up for the month. Mornings restored to normal and all is well with the world. After a couple of years of this great situation M and S, in all its infinite wisdom, decided to close all it’s food-halls in Greece. I’m not exaggerating, I was devastated. Well, I was a bit miffed. For the next few years I relied on friends and family and infrequent trips to England to keep my addiction in check. This part of the story has a happy ending. Alpha Vita have finally got with the programme and now imports PG tips for a reasonable price. Yes, they ship their tea too but again, who can afford it? The fact of my tea-drinking obsession does not define who I am but living in country where I cannot easily indulge my fairly typical everyday habit, highlights an aspect of my “foreignness”. I have been unwilling to give up this part of my life and indeed go to great lengths to ensure that I don’t have to.

HAIR
On a subject which does contribute to defining me. Hair. I am mixed race, as many of you already know. Something you may not know is that I don’t get up in the morning with my hair looking fabulous as in the photograph. No. The lucky people who do see me in the morning are more likely to mistake me for someone who has been dragged through a hedge backwards. Several times. I have scary hair. My wonderful hair needs help and that means the right hair products. Living in multicultural London for so many years made buying hair necessities easy. A short trip to the local supermarket and you’re done. For those who are uneducated in non-white hair, Timotei and Fructis just will not do. I used to use the children’s shampoos and conditioners from African Pride as my hair is thick but very fine. The most essential ingredient for my particular gorgeous locks is the leave-in conditioner.
Aside: This is not a moan about Greece so please do not take it as such. Now read on.
When I first came here I had many issues to grapple with. Language being the big one (still is). Hair came fairly low on the list of priorities ( below tea in fact) I’m not a great fusser about hair but when you actually get the chance to go out and “let your hair down”, you don’t want to scare people, do you? There are only two or three shops in Athens that stock black hair products and the range is small and very expensive. I am lucky though. I can make a bottle of Luster’s Pink Oil Moisturizer last a very long time so I’m not complaining.

DIFFERENCE
My tea drinking and, more importantly, my hair are part of who I am. The tea obsession I suppose I could change if I really had to but I don’t have to. So I won’t. My hair is here to stay. I can no more change that than I can change the colour of my skin. One of the results of living in this relatively homogenous society (although that is changing) is that your awareness of being different is always with you. I have been accused at times of being obsessed with race or identity (only by people who do not have to think about it) For those of us that do and are, being conscious of difference is a constant thing. It is always there. Not always loudly or in your face but there, in everything you do. From making a cup of tea to facing the world. I would not want to change who I am for anything but sometimes, I would like to not have to think about it. I do not need people to tell me I don’t belong here or anywhere else for that matter. I have lived my whole life knowing that some people would rather I was not here. But here I am. Grappling with life, the same as everyone else. Getting on with it like everyone else. And wanting in some small way to talk about what it is like to be part of a minority.
And don’t get me started about how I miss patties and plantains and fish and chips and pubs and …

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