An assemblage of issues, such as Brexit, get the mild mannered riled to the point of frothing at the mouth and swearing vengeance on members the Bullingdon Club, bankers and anybody with a double-barrelled surname.

Along with Brexit, UK customer services, driving, and council tax hikes, there are tumultuous modern-day frustrations that can bring you to the verge of a breakdown for which there is only one known universal cure: Tea.

‘I’ll just put the kettle on’, ‘Let’s have a brew (northern dialect)’, ‘Let’s talk about it over a cuppa’. All the aforementioned have become mantras with which to solve any societal ill. From Kathmandu to Kilmarnock, the hot, flavoured water has become a liquid solution to soothe, if not cure, any of man’s woes.

In the UK, we drink 165 million cups a day, equating to 60.2 billion cups a year. Strangely, this is about a third of the amount we drank in 1974, although choice was limited then, and coffee competitors, such as Costa and Starbucks, were but a glint in the money man’s eye.

I love a cup of tea. Entrusting this pivotal moment of the day to another is Russian roulette, which usually leaves me on a salvage mission in a foreign kitchen, as I attempt to remedy the cup of steaming orange liquid the host had just concocted.

My belief is that the only system that works is this: Tea bag and sweetener in, followed by milk (note: I don’t believe the ‘milk burns if in first’ school of thought). Fill to three-quarters full. Stir a few times clockwise, repeat anti-clockwise. Stir clockwise again. Stab the tea bag a few times then squeeze with fingers until dry. The burning sensation is worth the pain.

The biggest amateurs are cafes and takeaway coffee vendors. They fill the cup to 99 per cent full and leave the bag in. You then struggle to get a little milk in the cup, prior to tipping some out and then ripping open 26 bags of sugar. On occasion, the café is of the prudent variety: they don’t trust punters to have a free-for-all with the sugar and ask how many you require?

Some say it’s easy to get it wrong, but I disagree. It’s easy to rush, to not care and to serve up a rancid cup of steaming froth and pass it off as tea. With a little bit of due diligence, and semi quality ingredients (PG Tips or Yorkshire), it tastes fantastic when prepared correctly and served likewise. As for the receptacle, personally, I’m not into bone china. I have an image to upkeep and struggle to fit my fingers through a handle that was designed for people with Trump-sized hands. I plump for a mug. My current vehicle of choice is a Star Wars heat changer which lights up an array of weaponry including Kylo Ren's crossguard light sabre when the contents are hot. It is nearly as classy as the male stripper mug I bought a friend recently. She has taken to drinking half cups and throwing the rest away as she finds my gift crude yet kitsch.

When married with the right biscuit, the pleasure is intensified. A friend put it thus: "A hot cup of tea is like having a physical relationship with Kate Moss. The biscuit is Cindy Crawford showing up and asking if she can gate-crash the party."

A strange analogy certainly, but I kind of concur.

The camellia silensis plant continues to be a revelation. Darjeeling gives me a funny feeling, Earl Grey likes to play and herbal infusion is but a fad and illusion.

The British cuppa is a national institution. In times of war, Brexit and depression, it is a staple, a general, a prince among men! Now stop reading, brew up, and invite captain custard cream and Brigadier Bourbon along for a dunk, there’s a trooper….