Stalin and Tea.

Last month I felt like stalin and his 5 year plan- only a little more successful.

Like Stalin I was brought up in the hands of a poor peasant family in the independant republic of Yorkshire.

After years of struggle and hardship at the hands of ill parents, poor social reform and crippling poverty I was enrolled into the priesthood of Georgian orthodoxy ( an academic degree and a good Christian Girl lifestyle) We came across the readings of Lenin/ Vice magazine/ Leeds nightlife and thus made like bananas, split and embarked upon our own 5 year plans. 

Stalin was an only child. I wonder what would have happened if he had a sibling or ( heaven forbid )a sibling with Down-syndrome. I once was about to sign an 18 month phone contract with the 3 network when my sister lunged out the door for the McDonald's across town. I never signed for it and In retrospect I realise she did me a big favour as I wouldn't wish the 3 network on my worst enemy. If Stalin had a down-syndrome sibling maybe he wouldn't have signed the non aggression pact with Germany. He had to dash as his sibling had got naked in the corridor just as pen was about to hit Paper on the Molotov-Ribbentrop pact. 

Fact of the day 

Losif Vissarionovich Stalin changed his name to Joseph Stalin meaning ' man of steel ' . I changed my name from 'Milly's sister Katherine' to 'KATEBRITTAIN' ( all one word) in the 6 week holidays between primary and high school. It means ' I'm cool'

But seriously I think I might have been a bit of a mad un  without our mill. Our mil- you could say - was the difference between Gold and Steel. God that last line was gushy.   I Could have been a workaholic dictator set on the greater good of me.  Instead I got Milly and now I have a bit more time for the nutter on the  tube that everyone else ignores. She has given me a greater outlook on life and an In depth knowledge of Billy Elliot. That is where me and Stalin differ greatly.

I say this all because last month my sister made me a cup of tea. It didn't break the kettle, it didn't taste like cyanide and to be fair it was a good cup of regular tea. She made this in her own kitchen, with her own mugs in her own house she had moved into the night before. She looked at me like death, like a  slav in the gulag when her carer asked to clear and wash up the mugs. As if to say  "all this hard labour for the greater good of the people,.!?!? What the hell have you taught me  " I realised it was around five years ago I had come from college to find that my sister had broken the kettle again trying to make a cup of tea.  I thought to myself, I have two options set before me ; we can ban her from the kettle indefinitely or I KATEBRITTAIN can make it my goal to teach her how to make a proper cup of tea. Little did I know it was my five year plan.