Well, Bill, as you know we've got plenty of sheep shit here at my house! I don't care what you Yorkshire purists say, what matters to me is that your tea is so far superior to any of the dreck that tries to pass as tea over here that the water almost doesn't make a difference, nor how it is served!

The only time I ever saw Bill Sables the least bit crabby is last year at Old Songs on Sunday afternoon when he was hot, tired and sleep-deprived. He tried to buy a cup of tea from a poor innocent vendor who didn't understand why this man was nearly in tears when he dangled the limp tea bag in front of his face.
But when he came to my campsite to lament the situation, I was pleased to reveal my hidden stash of Yorkshire's finest!

I can actually buy a box in Peterborough, a few towns over, but it's never as good as the stuff Bill imports!