For six years I have existed in a wasteland of sodden tea leaves and limp, spent teabags. Coffee and I parted ways over heart palpitations and the jitters. Even so, it was a bitter breakup: doctor’s orders.

At cafes, I now endure the taunts of coffee-drinking friends: “Tea? Really? (Smirk) Ok – water in a cup for her. I’ll have a skinny double-shot, extra-hot, flat white, in a takeaway cup.”

Coffee snobbery is rife amongst Perth poseurs. At my local coffee house, my delicate teacup and saucer signposts me as persona non grata.  Apparently, I take up too much space at the pocket-sized tables with my collection of dinky pots (one for hot water) and my jug of frigid milk.