I bought the remaining teabags from mum and dad’s back home with me. I’ve just used the last one. Every time I’ve delved in to get a teabag out it has instantly evoked their kitchen, everything about it, the sound, the feel of it, all the processes and attendant sounds of making tea there - the drawer handles, the sound of the drawer opening and closing for a teaspoon, the fridge, the sound of the fridge door opening and closing, the distance between the fridge, the kettle, the bin to deposit the teabag. The sitting down at the kitchen table, looking across the sweet peas and out to the garden, the quality of the silence, the feeling of peace ... all so viscerally felt from a last teabag in another very different kitchen hundreds of miles away.