Jos Biggs having trouble today with tea bogs. Read on !!

There are few more cataclysmic events that can befall an English person than to run out of teabags - it is a disaster that makes Noah’s Flood seem like a little light drizzle.

I am constantly awake to this potential peril, but I have always managed to take avoiding action before this life-threatening event overcame me.

However, recently it nearly happened. I think Mercadona has stopped selling teabags; either that or I’ve stopped being able to find them.

Never mind, the excellent Corner Shop and equably dependable Harrisons always have more than adequate supplies!

I am a tea addict, but not a tea aficionado - any tea will do, as long as it is proper tea, not green tea or any of the poisonous concoctions so seductively known as Infusions.

Thus I came into ownership of a square box of Yorkshire Tea. Inevitably I finished my stock of Tetley or PG, or whatever, and had to move on to the box of Yorkshire Tea.

I was confident that I would receive the usual restorative service from this tea as from any of the other brands I have tried, so I fished the box out of the cupboard full of confidence.

The box was designed as a very neat cube, closely and seamlessly wrapped in the obligatory polythene. 

I turned it over a few times and found the point where the wrapping had been folded over and sealed, so I deployed my best fingernail to pick it open. I failed, so I deployed my second best fingernail, but with no success - it remained intact, I couldn’t pick even a tiny corner free.

I reached for a very sharp knife, and nearly cut my finger off as it slid over the surface without leaving a trace.

I turned it over a few times more and renewed my attack from various sides, but it remained more securely sealed than Tutankhamun’s tomb.

There was nothing for it; I found a barbecue skewer, took a running jump at the box, skewer in hand, and stabbed it viciously.

Now I had made a hole in the box, but not of sufficient dimensions to allow me to extract a teabag. However, by now the red mist had descended; I stuck my finger in the hole and wrenched.

Success! The box’s integrity was destroyed, and teabags flew joyfully all over the kitchen. I selected one, and made myself a cup of the elixir of life.

As I savoured my hard-won cuppa I examined the engineering phenomenon that had been the box. And discovered that there was one of those little plastic stringey things that breaks the plastic and opens the box when you pull on it.

Ah! Well, I’ll know next time!