"I'm told it's good for the soul. Painting, that is. Can't say that I really know if it's true or not. I'm not much of a painter myself. Never really done it, actually. Well, maybe once or t-twice when I was young."
Norman hesitated, trying to recall some time when he was younger. There weren't many good memories of those years. Those times. In fact, the only memories he could recall were dreadful. Horrible. Awful.
And then there was the tea.
"A light shade of yellow. Almost pastel. Like a canary. Nothing brighter than that. Mother wouldn't stand for anything too ostentatious."