I’m Sorry, Hails, But Coffee Does Not Help.

Hails is my favourite blogger.  As well as being the most talented writer I know, she’s also the funniest person I have ever met.  Back in the good old days, when she lived in NI, she and I would occasionally go on adventures together, which usually ended up with one or both of us laughing so hard that we couldn’t breathe.  However, despite being Practically Perfect In Every Other Way, Hails suffers from a serious error in judgement.  She truly, sincerely, and most irrationally, believes that Coffee Helps.  My experience has shown me that the exact opposite is true.

You know how, when you know you’ve got an exam the following morning, you just can’t sleep?  Such was the case the night before my RE exam.  This is why, at 7am the next morning, I was dozing over my breakfast at the kitchen table.  I needed a cup of tea – or, perhaps, several gallons of the stuff.  I almost cried when I opened the tea caddy and found it empty.  There was only one thing to do in a situation like this: pray.  So, I got down on my knees, bowed my head, and prayed, “Dear God.  I know you think it’s funny to hide the tea from me, but I really, really need it back.  I’ve got my RE exam today, and I’m about to fall asleep.  When I get up, I know you’ll have put the tea back into the caddy.  Otherwise, I am going to cry.  Thanking you, Lord, for your kind attention to this matter.”

Of course, when I looked in the tea caddy again, it was empty.  I bravely held back the tears.  Perhaps, I thought, if I threw myself in front of a car, I’d get my predicted grades.  I pushed the thought from my mind, when I realised that I probably wouldn’t be out of hospital in time to do my Psychology exams, and I really needed to beat my predicted grades in that (Richard, I hope you’re reading and feeling guilty).  A glint of silver caught my eye: the coffee caddy.  Why hadn’t I thought of this before?  It was brilliant.  I chucked some of the dark brown power into a mug and poured boiling water on top.  The putrid smell of instant coffee filled the room.  I almost passed out.

After a quick stir, the water had turned a murky brown colour.  I could hardly bring myself to contemplate that I was, very soon, going to drink this concoction.  Distracted, I poured about half a pint of milk into the cup, making it flow over onto the granite work surface.  Argh.  The liquid was now the exact colour of a shirt that had been washed through too many times – a disgusting, depressing grey.  Unable to delay for any longer, I held my nose and swallowed the coffee in one, burning my tongue and the roof of my mouth in the process.  I waited for the buzz.  A minute passed, then two.  Nothing happened.  I think I actually fell asleep while standing up.  When I opened my eyes, ten minutes had passed, and I still felt as groggy as when I had woken up.  A sneaking suspicion began to work its way into my mind.  It couldn’t be true, though.  The fates would not be so cruel.  The taste of coffee was still strong in my mouth, a reminder of my latest sacrifice for the sake of my education.  Unable to bear the thought of being hoodwinked in such a way, I rifled through the cupboard and found the offending coffee jar.  At once, my worst fears were confirmed.

The label on the jar read : Nescafé Gold Blend: Decaf.

My life is a farce.