After the best part of 20 miles of walking and with an increasingly cold wind, the tent is pitched and in we crawl. The kettle goes on and out come the mugs. I've declared that we have enough gas left to be extravagant and have two cups of tea apiece tonight - the second will come after we've eaten.
Both food bags are then searched, calmly at first, then frantically. Eventually it has to be concluded that the teabags (a fresh bag of 40) are still in the room of last night's B&B, and there are no more shops before us and the coast.
The kettle has almost boiled and the disappointment in the tent is immense.
The kettle boils and I'm about to pour.
Mick then has a flash of inspiration. He opens up his cook-pot, and there they are - a plump ziplock full of glorious teabags.
Suddenly there are grins and the mood in the tent soars. It's not tealess-tea for the rest of the trip after all :-)
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