The other day, while doing some housework, I came across a gem of a thing in the cupboards of the house I now inhabit. A mug.
Some people have no appreciation of the attraction of a good mug. They see a mug as nothing more than a receptacle for liquids, and a means of conveying beverages to the mouth. For those who don't understand, allow me to enlighten you.
A favourite mug is a very personal thing. For some people, a feeling of sturdy ruggedness is important, others look for large capacity. Some require both. Or the absence of both. Or one of those things in conjunction with something else not mentioned here. A humorous image, a bon mot, advice or encouragement. As I say, it's personal, and I couldn't list everything everybody looks for from their mug. My previous favourite, a Simpsons one featuring a nude Homer chasing a blue iced doughnut, was broken shortly after I unpacked it following a period of storage. I was obviously devastated, but, ever stoic, resigned myself to drinking from lesser vessels. Not for the first time, I considered purchasing a 2000AD mug. They look about the right size and construction, if a little thick and rounded at the top for my tastes.
My new stoup is a very dark brown, almost black, with a white interior, which I like. It is, I was surprised to find, roughly as deep as it is broad. That is, it's as tall as my middle finger, and its diameter is the same. Its handle comfortably accommodates my three upper fingers, with enough space under the handle for my little finger to support, without being bumped uncomfortably when I place the mug on the table. Or coaster. I always use a coaster.
Its a great all-rounder. It's solid enough to be a comfortable tea mug, while svelte enough to be a respectable coffee mug. It's plain without being boring, simple, elegant and functional.
It is everything I aspire to be, yet am not. In mug form.