There’s an odd rattling in your kitchen. It can’t be you; you’re still on your first chai. You check the washing machine, but the brick’s still on top. Puzzling. Then you realise: it’s the sound of every piece of Tupperware you own quaking with fear at the arrival of the new lid in town. The Tea Box is their worst nightmare, a hard-as-nails metal motherhumper here to liberate your sweet Indian mistress from the vacuum-formed denizens of your drawers. He’ll tend your teabags whilst sorting out the two-bit aesthetic of your eating area.