The Kettle I could not let go.

This is a very old kettle which was in my Grandparent's house in the Wicklow hills near Dublin.
Though living in England I was born in Dublin, so do doubt this kettle was boiled up while I was nearby as a baby of a few days.

It is now with me in my (at least) fifteenth home. I fear for it's lid. It is rusting away, and I keep forgetting to take it off at night to dry, and not deteriorate.
It was in the 1930 edition of The Army & Navy catalogue, I think it must be 80 years old.

We all have some drama in our lives. This kettle was wrangled over when I divorced. I put my foot down, even though my husband had painted it with some black stuff, and had taken it away. Houses come and go, but a family kettle does not.

Next to it is my trusty (overworked) Denby teapot, which is on it's second lid. It is full of freshly made Earl Grey (loose leaf) tea, from the water in this very blip.

I can now enjoy the tea as I look through today's blips.