I THINK you can tell a lot about a person by their choice of hot drink.

You can take your beverage so many ways – the latest fad in our house being sugar lumps, although we’re not as posh as we sound as they’re in a packet rather than a pretty silver bowl.

At work I sit with three tea drinkers – one likes it milky, one dictates the maker mustn’t squeeze the teabag and the other will slurp up whatever you put in front of him, pouring the remnants into the pot of a sad-looking plant.

Some might argue that ‘normal’ tea drinkers are unadventurous. and others might reckon they’re retro. But every now and then you get one who is plain strange - such as the friend of a friend who sucks used teabags when they’re cold.

The black coffee drinkers I know are workaholics, except on days off when they seem to lean towards a nice capuccino which must, must, must boast chocolate sprinkles on the top.

I personally favour green tea or, if I’m having five minutes with a biscuit and the day’s paper, I’ll have a decaf coffee with a splash of soya.

I realise that makes me sound pretentious but milk makes me bloated. And while I used to think when I worked in a restaurant that the customer would never know if you slipped them a coffee with caffeine (well, sometimes I’d get the cups mixed up), I am now painfully aware that a full strength Farrers can leave some folk bouncing off the walls.

I haven’t drunk a standard cup of tea for about 20 years so imagine my surprise when one morning this week a member of my tea club at the Gazette brought me a milky mug of Yorkshire Tea (it probably wasn’t that brand but I’m a Yorkshire lass so I’ll plug it).

I scolded him (I was tempted to scald him too) so he will remember in future but I doubt it will make much difference. I think there’s something about journalists and their ability to make a decent cuppa.

I remember a period of drinking only water whenever it was the round of my former desk-mate Ruth.

Over the course of her employment at the Gazette she spilt a cup of Bovril over a new leather handbag, tripped over herself and dropped an entire tray of drinks (smashing the boss’s favourite mug) and made me a brew with cold water after forgetting to turn the kettle on.

Probably the worst offence, though, was the time she made me a coffee which tasted odd.

I couldn’t put my finger on it until I’d drained the cup and found a teabag sitting in the bottom.