It is very hard to find a tea pot which suits all requirements. It must first of all be a thing of extreme beauty, and there is nothing more beautiful than a tea pot of perfect proportions in dusky turquoise-blue with a hint of green, circa 1960s. Secondly, and just as important, it must be a good pourer, meaning it must not dribble down the spout and it must tip elegantly from the handle. The lid must not rattle or fall when tipped to extract the last half-cup from the pot. It must feel good when held, as if shaking the hand of an old and dear friend. It must be a thing of beauty in form and function.

This teapot was one such item, elegant yet full of character. I found it in a shop in Bethnal Green, and as soon as I saw it I knew it had to be mine. It was a lot more than I might usually spend on a teapot, but I loved it so much that I didn't care. I asked the man in the shop to show me to a tap so I could fill it with water and watch it pour. It did not dribble. He wrapped it, and I took it home, via H.'s house where we had pot after pot of tea, admiring it at every sip. We all agreed, it was a divine item of retro crockery.

Arriving at my home, I unwrapped the pot from its bubblewrap to find the handle in pieces. I had knocked it ever so slightly on the gate post on leaving H's house and now it was broken. The person in me who accepts life's tragedies and moves onwards tried to find some way to deal with this. But the retro crockery-consumer in me went to bed and cried, mourning the loss of what was a brief, but loved companion.

Minty-green Poole teapot, c.1960-2010.