Teapot

I'm a little teapot, short and stout.
Here's my handle, here's my spout.
When I get all steamed up, hear me shout:
Tip me up and pour me out!

The teapot, a hollow vessel in which tea is brewed and from which it is ultimately poured is now well-known around the world. Seemingly a boring, unremarkable and utilitarian item of pottery, one might feel it is difficult to get excited about the teapot. Well, even if becoming excited is out of the question, becoming educated certainly isn't...

The Origins Of Tea Drinking

(Or 'Who discovered that cows give milk, and what did he think he was doing at the time?')

There are two legends concerning the origins of tea. Shen Nong, a Chinese Emperor from the third century BC was sitting beneath a tree, boiling his drinking water when the leaves of the tree fell into his bowl. The taste, not unpleasant to the Emperor, quickly increased in popularity. A plausible tale, if you can get past the idea that the Emperor's mother obviously never warned him about eating berries, mud or, indeed, the liquid formed from brewing mysterious leaves.

Either way, the second legend is probably less believable, though it may possess a little more romantic appeal. It is the fifth century, and a Dharuma Buddhist monk has travelled fromChina to India, pursuing his faith. During the fifth year of a seven-year meditation he finds sleep is beginning to overcome him. Offended by his own eyelids, he cuts them off and hurls them to the ground. At this very spot, a tea plant springs, from which the monk cuts the leaves and brews them. The drink produced, he finds, keeps him awake, allowing him to pursue his spiritual studies.

Regardless of how, Camellia sinensis, the common tea plant, is now consumed all over the world. It was first cultivated in the 4th century when wild plants were taken from China toIndia. This evergreen tree is kept at a manageable five foot height, the leaves picked by hand, one worker picking enough tea per day to produce around 2800 cups.

Brewing Up: The Rising In The East

('If you have enjoyed this drink, why not share it with your friends?' - Nutrimatic Drinks Dispenser)

Teapots were not immediately used upon the discovery of tea. Even in the 8th century tea leaves were hand rolled, dried and ground into powder. This powder, mixed with salt, was dried into cakes which were added to hot water, forming a thick liquid, prized for its supposed medicinal value. These cakes eventually gave way, in 9th century Japan, to the powder remaining in loose form, which was simply added to hot water and whisked vigorously. Indeed, it was not until the beginning of the Ming Dynasty, 1368 to 1644, that leaf infusion became commonplace.

It is from this era that the earliest examples of teapots originate. Made from the characteristic clay of the YiXing region of China, these strong yet delicate pots were used as both brewing and drinking vessel, each tea-drinker being provided with an individual-sized pot. Tea was sipped directly from the spout, making the transition from brewing bowl to teapot a smooth one.

Demand for teapots spread from China to Japan, and by the 15th century tea-drinking had evolved a complex set of ceremonies, drunk for social reasons rather than simply for medicinal beliefs. The teapot was no longer merely a brewing vessel, but had the added dimension of artistic merit. Teapots with themes were introduced; red clay or shudei teapots became prized as creative pieces, as did the well-seasoned YiXing pots. The Japanese province of Bizen became renowned for its earthenware, and new techniques were developed to produce these delicate and highly-prized vessels.

Brewing Up: Go West!

('Tea to the English is really a picnic indoors.' - Alice Walker)

Tea, at this point, began to spread into the West. Mirroring the evolution of tea-drinking in the East, tea was first used in herbal infusions and tisanes. By the seventeenth century Europe had adopted the drink with enthusiasm, labelling it 'cha' after the Cantonese name, and a little later British inhabitants were showing increasing interest in the beverage, adopting theAmoy term 'tay'.

Teapots arrived in Europe with the first shipments of tea, however, and by 1883 the East India Tea Company, formed in 1669, was importing YiXing teapots. Portuguese traders also began importing teapots, naming the pottery buccaro or boccaro ware after the delicate red earthenware seen in South and Central America. These imports had an influence, of course, on European versions of teapots, which were quick to follow.

Initially, the European teapot, often constructed from silver or ceramic would also be used for coffee or hot chocolate, and the earliest known British vessel designed specifically for brewing tea is the silver ewer now featured at the Victoria And Albert Museum in London. It is inscribed '1670 - tea-Pott'. This dates it within ten years of a ceramic European teapot, made between 1670 and 1680 by Arij de Milde in the Dutch town of Delft. The European version, unlike the tall, silver British pot, retains the YiXing design with a short spout and loop handle.

Present Day: The Place Of The Teapot In Everyday Society

('Strange how a teapot can represent at the same time the comforts of solitude and the pleasures of company.' - Author Unknown)

With the advent of bagged tea, the teapot is in something of a decline at present. While, not so many years ago, the teapot was a revered item, occupying its own space in the kitchen and often equipped with its own set of clothing, there is something convenient about slipping a single bag into a cup, brewing the beverage and discarding the teabag before drinking.

Nevertheless, for those who prefer the ritual of making tea, or simply feel that a better flavour is produced from loose tea, the pot is still available in both traditional and more modern varieties. Bodum, popular for their coffee brewing equipment, make a clear glass teapot with a central reservoir for the leaves which can be sealed off once the optimum brew strength has been achieved. The more traditional earthenware pot does become seasoned over time, however, and many will swear by a decades-old pot despite the internal build-up of tannin. A glance inside a well-aged teapot can often be more scary than enthralling, though I recall my own grandmother complaining bitterly that the new pot didn't taste the same. Either way, radically different varieties of teas should be kept to their own pots - a green tea would easily be spoiled by brewing in a teapot that has been well-seasoned with black tea.

The teapot has, regardless, entered popular culture. The Utah Teapot is well known to anyone involved in 3D computer graphics work, and more recently a Malaysian cult, The Sky Kingdom erected a 35 foot tall pink teapot on its property. This 2004 addition was, apparently, symbolic of the life-giving properties of water, though it has caused much controversy with nearby residents.

Making The Perfect Cup Of Tea

('The perfect temperature for tea is two degrees hotter than just right.' - Terri Guillemets)

It must be said that I ignore the following advice completely when making my mug of Earl Grey, preferring instead to force a teabag to the bottom of a mug, pour on hot water and then, in a display of total ignorance and sacrilege, add a splash of milk before it's even had time to brew properly. For the perfect cup of tea, one has to be a little more pedantic:

A cup of tea is approximately 98% water, so for the best cup of tea one requires the best quality water. Bottled or filtered water produces the best flavour. Bear in mind that dissolvedoxygen content will affect the quality of the tea, as well; never draw water from the hot tap or use water which has been boiled for an excessive period of time.

Pre-heating the teapot is vitally important, too. If poured into a cold vessel the water will immediately drop a couple of degrees, hampering the brewing process. To pre-heat the pot simply rinse it out with boiling water and discard.

The recommendation is that three grams of dry tea leaves are used for every six fluid ounces of water. In practice, one rounded teaspoon per cup will do. Bear in mind, tea enthusiasts, that oolong teas may vary greatly in density, due to their large and wiry leaves. On the other hand, gunpowder tea is much denser than ordinary tea, and only two thirds of a teaspoon is necessary to achieve an ideal strength.

When brewing black tea, the water should reach a rolling boil and immediately be poured onto the leaves, the pot lid being placed firmly on for the five minute steep time. Green tea, which also benefits from slightly less brewing time, is better with water at around 70 degrees celcius (160 degrees Farenheit) - a good rule of thumb is to wait for the first few bubbles to rise from the base of the kettle and pounce, or even to leave the kettle for a few minutes after boiling before beginning to steep the tea...

Enjoy...

Rope

Rope has been made since the early Stone Age, from whatever materials were available. For European hunter-gatherers, ten thousand years ago, that would be flax, grown specifically to make rope. For the Persians or Egyptians, papyrus was also used. Nowadays, both vegetable fibres andsynthetic materials are used to produce rope, though synthetics enjoy a greater level of popularity.

It is no surprise that humanity has developed rope-making in such a way, and it is unthinkable that there will ever come a time when the common, simple rope will become obsolete. Rope provides us with the means to delve into the deepest cave, to seek out fuel or food in remote places, to move over rugged terrain with everything securely held on pack animals or vehicles. It joins things together, and in doing so keeps things safe. Rope was essential for the block and tackle construction techniques of the medieval stone masons, and the vital tool of the Egyptian labour forces. Thick, strong cord keeps mountain climbers off the ground, and (for the rest of us) those thin, black cords keep our shoes on our feet. And of course, it's only when your pockets are completely rope-free that you realise how useful a length of cord could be...

Vegetable Fibre Cordage

Until this century, rope was made from shredded, combed and graded fibres of plant stems; maybe flax or jute. Alternately, the leaves of sisal or hemp provided a tough, suitable fibre. Fibres attached to seeds, such as cotton, or the fibrous husk of coconut shells (coir) were also suitable.

If plants weren't available, horse, camel or even human hair were just as usable, though vegetable fibres were far more common. For obvious reasons, such ropes are referred to as natural fibre. These fibres were spun clockwise to create long yarns. Several yarns would be twisted anticlockwise to form strands. Finally, three strands would be laid together and spun clockwise to create a typical rope.

The resulting cord was relatively strong, but prone to abrasion, and, in many cases, the natural fibres could become prey to mildew, rot, vermin or insects. It might swell when damp, and in icy conditions could easily freeze and simply break. Nevertheless, in their time, natural fibre rope was an incredibly useful tool, and an important aspect of humanity's historical development.

Some natural fibre rope remains in use. Those thick ropes in the gym are commonly made of high-quality hemp cordage, and coir ropes grace more than one boat fender. On a less practical note, the interior decor of your everyday nautically-inclined theme pub would be far less authentic without their multiple yards of natural fibre rope. (Decide for yourself whether the eradication of nautically-themed pubs would be adequate reason to ban natural fibre ropes...)

Synthetic Cordage

As technology improved, so did rope-making. In the 1930s the basic elements for synthetic cordage were discovered and developed. Fine, continuous clusters of multifilaments, less than 50 microns in diameter became a real possibility. The production of coarser monofilaments was perfected, and flat, narrow strings could be produced through careful extrusion of synthetic chemicals.

Such synthetic materials are stronger and lighter than their vegetable counterparts. A three-strand nylon rope is more than twice as strong as a manila one, yet weighs half as much and can last four times longer. They do not lose strength from being wet, have high breaking strength and can withstand sudden shock loading.

This is not to say that synthetic ropes do not have their own shortcomings. They are susceptible to heat, and thus friction can easily cause softening, melting or, most disastrously, parting. That said, polyamide produces the strongest man-made cordage, and Polyester, Terylene, Dacron and polypropylene offer common alternatives. In situations where strength is required and friction can be minimised, synthetic cordage is an unparalleled choice.

Why Did We Call Them Sperm Whales?

You probably know that spermaceti is a waxy substance which is contained within the skull of the sperm whale, and sadly often obtained from the same. It's white, and a large whale contains up to three tons of the stuff. If you can make it through to chapter seventy-eight of Moby Dick you'll become an expert in how it was extracted, and probably won't envy Tashtego falling into the depths of a whale's head whilst using a bucket to get out all the good stuff.

So, here we have a thick white, gloopy substance. And what might that remind you of, particularly if you're a sailor who's been at sea for a month and you've just thrown one over your thumb earlier that morning? And it all becomes clear: one sperm whale, containing up to three tons of spunk.

And so, we must ask - is there not a better name for the poor thing than Sperm Whale? Well, how about cachalot, the original Spanish and Portugese name for this poor, mis-titled creature. Mind you, cachalot still means 'big head', so it's not that much of an improvement... particularly when you consider the Dutch potvis, or the German pottwal, both of which reference the large head, sticking out like a pan or pot. At least they're descriptive, I suppose.

"Now, had Tashtego perished in that head, it had been a very precious perishing; smothered in the very whitest and daintiest of fragrant spermaceti; coffined, hearsed, and tombed in the secret inner chamber and sanctum sanctorum of the whale."

Furtling

Ah, the Victorians. Frantically covering nicely-turned table legs one minute, then indulging in suggestive hand manipulation the next. Furtling, a fantastic word which rolls off the tongue with just the slightest allusion to furtiveness and fondling, is classic Victorian entertainment, and it works like this:

Take one image - possibly a woodcut of a young lady, sitting at her dressing table, or a gentleman on a beach, drying himself with a towel. Note that the image has cut-out regions: the young lady's legs appear to be missing, and the gentlemen's buttocks have been replaced with a suspiciously-shaped hole.

Having read the instructions, place one's hands appropriately behind the image, filling the gaps, as directed, with skin. Mmm... sensuous, realistic, strokable skin! Well, actually we all know it's just fingertips, but to the repressed and easily-amused Victorian masses a gentleman on the beach sans knitted swimsuit was akin to hardcore porn. As for the lady, her legs nicely filled in with a pair of fingers, the knuckles cunningly forming her knees... well, it certainly brought a giggle to after-dinner proceedings, and led quite nicely to the suggestive songs about coconuts.

The practice, unsurprisingly, was a subject of much controversy. The Reverend F.B. Cummings got into quite a stew over the practice, declaring forcefully 'The hand was not meant for this, Sir'. Others disagreed and a range of high society members proclaimed its virtues, even as the practice dwindled.

Strangely, furtling lives on. A good source of history is The Naughty Victorian Handbook: Furtling: The Rediscovered Art Of Erotic Hand Manipulation by Burton Silver and Jeremy Bennet. Alternately, the internet can be relied on, as usual, to produce a range of people who think furtling is more fun than a barrelful of monkeys.

A gallery at www.xenophilia.com features such diverse individuals as Sarah, 23, who runs an ostrich farm, and Bill, 30, an Egyptologist, who are all keen to show you their 'finger buttocks'.

Also, there are exciting things afoot at Fentiman's, with only the slightest ulterior motive. I tried the ginger beer once, and I must say I wasn't entirely impressed.

The First Blast Of The Trumpet Against The Monstrous Regiment Of Women

"I affirm that to promote a woman to bear rule or empire above any realm, nation, or city, is repugnant to nature, contumely to God, and a thing most contrary to his revealed and approved ordinance..."

The First Blast Of The Trumpet Against The Monstrous Regiment Of Women is a treatise by the Protestant John Knox which, quite simply, warns of the inherent dangers of allowing women to take positions of authority. It is, undoubtedly, Knox's most famous work, though its message is outdated and seems almost naïve. Indeed, the text is now more valued as an example of post-medieval misogyny rather than a definitive warning of the evils of feminine power.

The treatise itself is wordy, obsessive about minutiae and filled with an array of scriptural, historical and religious quotes, all of which are used to espouse Knox's main point: 'I am assured that God has revealed to some in this our age, that it is more than a monster in nature that a woman shall reign and have empire above man'. The abundance of alternate sources he quotes does little aside from show the long and drawn out history of opposition to the rule of women. Ultimately, the whole work comes across as the fervent ravings of a madman, though in truth Knox was merely recording the general attitude of the time.

The treatise itself begins with a preface, in which Knox outlines the religious background to his viewpoint. It moves on, albeit at a snail's pace, to sound the first blast, aimed (according to Knox's title) at 'women degenerate'. The empire of women is, he tells us, degenerate to nature, contrary to the revealed will of God. What's more, it is subversive of good order, equity and justice. Expecting trouble, Knox then answers some common objections bandied by less-clear thinkers. This section is almost as long as the first sections combined, and is followed by a conclusion. The contents of his conclusion will come as no surprise, and it ends, quite simply, with 'Praise God, ye that fear him.' It appears there can be, at least in Knox's mind, no possible argument against the divine truth of his words.

Knox's work was published in Geneva in 1558, and was initially an anonymous publication. The 'first blast' was to be followed by two more works, and Knox intended to reveal his identity on the publication of the triumphant third blast. His two sequels remained unwritten, however, although a short summary of his intended subject matter was later published.

The full text is available at http://www.swrb.ab.ca/newslett/actualNLs/firblast.htm

The First Blast Of The Trumpet Against The Monstrous Regiment Of Women is, of course, the inspiration for Terry Pratchett's Discworld novel Monstrous Regiment. (Well, the inspiration for the title, at least, although you can see the thematic links...)

Babycham

The inventors of Babycham were, in my opinion, geniuses. They somehow took a light, sparkling perry, which is basically pear cider, and whipped up a host of 60s and 70s advertising to appeal to a couple of decades worth of women. It worked - at one point 'brandy and Babycham' (for those who wished to splash out) was considered the height of sophistication, if a little pricey, and was almost certainly guaranteed to get you wobbling on your barstool.

Babycham was the first alcoholic beverage to be advertised on UK television, beginning in 1957, with the exciting, if baffling, slogan: 'the genuine champagne perry'. A small prancing fawn was used as a mascot, and the factory in Shepton Mallet is still guarded by a large plastic version complete with blue bow.

Candlebomb

A candlebomb is a small bubble of glass, filled with water. Placing this in the flame of a candle will cause the water inside to heat, turning it to steam and causing the glass shell to burst. The question is... why? What possible use could such a device be?

Well, not unlike the indoor fireworks which were popular during the eighties, the after dinner amusement device of choice in the eighteenth century was the candlebomb, whereby any number of guests could be held in fascinated thrall by the evanescent bang of an exploding glass sphere.

It's hard to understand why it didn't catch on... naked flames, hot water and splinters of glass on the table are so much more sophisticated than wafer thin mints.