I have a hierarchy of mugs

And please don’t ever touch my top-tier ones.

There is an audio version here for paying subscribers.

A couple of years ago, I was reaching into the cupboard to get a mug when I realised something I had never properly acknowledged before. There are about 20 mugs in my home. But I will only ever consider using five of them. And those five are in a hierarchy.

In the top tier, there is a white mug with lipstick mark prints on it. I’ve never sat down and decided to give this mug a name but over the twenty or so years I’ve had it, I’ve come to know it as ‘Lips’. How common is it, I wonder, for a mug to have its own name?

I once left it behind when I was between houses and staying in an Airbnb. I emailed the owner and asked them to leave it out on the doorstep the next day. And then made the hour-long journey to retrieve it. I don’t want to sound too weird but I felt some emotion when I saw Lips sitting on that doorstep all on its own just waiting for me.

Lips and a very good-sized mug with an abstract picture of the Tate Modern that my friend Geoff bought me are my two top-tier mugs. And if I see either of them being used by my partner Tom or a self-sufficient guest, it’s all I can do to stop myself from wrestling it from their hands, pouring the drink away, washing it up and hiding it. It pains me deeply to see it being used by another. I’d honestly rather catch someone using my toothbrush.

I’m okay with my tier 2 mugs being used. I like them a lot but they’re not my favourites. In fact, there’s one that I always use to make my sister a drink when she comes round. And that’s because it’s another one my mum bought me and is emblazoned with the words, ‘The Finest Gifted and Talented Daughter. One of a Kind. Practically Perfect in Every Way.’ And I always hand over her tea saying, “Did mum get you one of these too?” knowing full well she hadn’t.

Sometimes world events can lead to a tier 2 mug being downgraded. About ten years ago, a friend bought me a mug covered in photos of John Travolta, BBC News24 Wrong Man Guy Goma, Kim Jong Il and Putin bare-chested on a horse. He had it made for me for reasons I don’t have time to go into and I’m pretty certain it’s the only one of its kind in the world. Since Putin invaded Ukraine I’ve felt understandably unable to use it and quite tempted to smash it. And I wonder if this is the first time this has happened with a mug. (Unless there was once a Clark Gable/Yi Dong-nyeong/Harry Grindell Matthews/Hitler mug that had to be pushed to the back of the cupboard in 1939.)

I don’t think it’s particularly uncommon to become attached to a mug. And I should say I feel nothing for any glasses in my home. Or for every piece of cutlery or a bowl. There is a plate with a bear face on it that I’m very fond of which my friend Zena bought me. I get annoyed if Tom gets to it first during the day but I also won’t use it at breakfast as I think it’s too good for toast and I don’t want to demean it.

So yes, there is a plate. But apart from that nothing comes close to my feelings for my mugs. And why is this? Some explanations have been offered. That it’s to do with the comforting warmth of a hot drink and the daily routine. And also there may be an emotional attachment if it was a gift. Which made me realise, I am 48 and I’ve never bought a mug for myself.

Tom has also never bought himself a mug. And I’m pretty sure both my six-year-old son and dog have never bought a mug. Meaning every mug in our home, all around 20 of them, was a gift. I can’t even begin to imagine a situation where I’d purchase one for myself. I think I will lie on my death bed mumbling the last words of, “Well, I never did buy a mug.” Which for last words is probably as unique as my John Travolta/Guy Goma etc mug.

Is anybody buying their own mugs? I’m tempted to make the bold statement that mugs are the most essential household item that we never buy for ourselves. I think we just accumulate them.

But if I did ever get one, I know exactly what I want. Just anything that doesn’t have a dark interior, a square rim or an irregularity that screams rustic or pottery class. But I’d never use it. I’m only interested in my top-tier mugs. And let me warn you now, don’t ever, ever touch them. (But my toothbrush is the pink one.)

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