Ok, let me explain. I’ve never felt the need for a tea cozy. I mean, I do drink tea, but usually it’s boiled water poured directly onto a teabag in my cup. Not very proper, I know. But the other night I was brainstorming projects to make with my fabric when my neighbor Martin stopped by. Martin is a 50-year-old, shall we say colorful Welshman with a penchant for obscure ’60s musicians, beat poets and beer. This particular night he was already half-drunk and delighted by the idea of helping me brainstorm. He immediately insisted I make tea cozies, and somehow, coming from him, it sounded so appealing…
