Tea, Biscuits, and a Bit of Home

After every hospital appointment I had, there was one certainty—we’d be stopping at Granny’s afterwards. Their house was just around the corner, and it didn’t matter what time of day it was or what the appointment was for, I always ended up in that little kitchen, standing on a chair by the small blue and white countertop, watching the world go by from the safest place I knew.

Granny would already have the kettle on by the time we walked in. She never needed to ask if we wanted tea—of course, we did. Tea was the cure for everything in our house, from bad news to bad weather, and Granny made sure the mugs were filled before we’d even settled in. The steam curled into the air, mixing with the scent of biscuits and whatever was cooking on the stove that day.

I don’t remember the conversations. Not really. Mum and Granny would chat as they always did, voices weaving in and out of each other, sometimes serious, sometimes laughing, the rise and fall of their words a comfort I never paid much attention to at the time. But I do remember how it felt—like a deep exhale after a long day, like stepping into warmth after the cold.

There were always biscuits. Sometimes plain digestives, custard creams, if Granny had been to the shops that morning, there’d be chocolate—maybe a bar of Dairy Milk, broken into neat squares, or a few wrapped sweets pulled from the depths of her handbag for mum—for me, she always had my favourite Rich Tea biscuits. It was a small thing, but I looked forward to it every time.

Mum would stand while Granny continued cooking or cleaning, her hands wrapped around the mug, and I’d sit (or more likely, stand) on the chair beside mum, dipping my biscuit into my tea, letting it soak just long enough before it crumbled into my mouth.

Even now, years later, I can still picture it so clearly—the little kitchen, the warmth of the tea, the sound of their voices blending together. And every time I make a cup of tea after a long day, I think of them, of those afternoons spent in that safe, familiar place.

Because some traditions don’t need to be grand or elaborate, sometimes, they’re just a cup of tea, a biscuit, and the people who make anywhere feel like home.