My first tea of the morning is always in my large, floral china tea cup. Once it had a matching saucer but as it was never really utilised, it was left somewhere along the way. I have expressed on more than one occasion that I don’t really know what I’ll do when I no longer have this tea cup.

My mother bought the cup and saucer from a coffee shop she used to frequent two houses ago. She also bought my sister a similar, but not the same, one for her morning coffee. My sister drinks coffee in the morning and I drink tea. We both think the other is deluded. The shop no longer exists.

If I am having a herbal tea or perhaps a hot water and lemon, I’ll use a shapely mug that I have owned for more years than I can recall. It was made for me by my maternal grandmother and it has my name written in cursive across one side. Inside the mug is bright lemon yellow, the same colour as the script. Each family member received one but I doubt the other siblings have theirs.

If I’m making coffee at home, I’ll use the stout navy blue cups that look fancier than the IKEA product they are. I initially fell in love with some similar at the hipster Japanese cafe and homewares store near where we used to live. They were ten times the price of the IKEA ones but not ten times as beautiful.

When we traveled to Tokyo years ago, I carefully brought back several ceramic items that caught my eye, all in varying shades of green. One of my favourite colour names is celadon. The sound of it is even seductive. Celadon also just happens to be a most alluring hue.

One of these Japanese pieces is a small, wonky cup, very wide at the top. Too wide in fact, compared to its height to be comfortably stable for hot drinks. That’s why this cup more often than not ends up as a vessel for yoghurt and fruit. The sight of it in my hand is enough to bring a smile regardless of what the rest of the day brings.

I could go on but I’m sure you get the gist.