There it was, in a cardboard box behind the brown furniture in my West London lock-up, absolutely packed with meaning and promise. The Goblin Teasmade of 1979.
Insanely British – what other nation could devote a whole household shrine to morning tea-making, or could build in so much technical ingenuity to prolong the magic moment?
I should explain, in the interest of clarity for the tiny minority of who don't know the Teasmade's role in our national life and its astonishing list of competencies.
