Moving the Teahouse

Ah, the weekend.  That time when I sleep late and relax from the unremitting strain and torment of my job.  After five days of nobly sacrificing my time, health and intellect without thought of reward (except for pay, free dinners and, hopefully, a bonus) the weekend is when I recharge my drained batteries and pause for breath.

Normally that is, today found me rolling out of bed at 6.45am.  Well, ok the alarm went off at 6.45am.  Several snooze buttons later I rolled out of bed at 7.30 but that's still pretty early for a Saturday.  This particular Saturday I had a mission.  For reasons which temporarily elude me I had agreed to help a friend move her business or, more accurately, paraphernalia connected with her business from its old and soon to be defunct location in Darlington to roomy new premises in Marrickville.

The sun was shining and the birds were singing as I brushed my teeth.  The birds were difficult to hear because rainwater kept getting in their mouths and the shining sun was having problems penetrating the 10/10ths cloud cover decorating the sky but I'm sure both were doing their best.  It had been suggested by someone who should have known better that I wear a muscle t-shirt so that I looked completely ridiculous while hauling boxes around.  I opted for sensible clothes instead (a cheap suit and the smaller of my feathered headresses).

Moving was due to start at ten o'clock sharp so I dashed straight from my home to Darlington pausing only for a leisurely breakfast and chat at my favourite cafe.  Arriving with fifteen minutes to spare I checked my facebook updates to learn that my friend had had similar getting out bed issues and had put the whole thing off until eleven.  I flicked the icy rainwater off my collar, wiggled my toes in an attempt to regain circulation and mentally agreed that that seemed like a sensible thing to do.  I may also have cursed quite a bit.

Huddling against the rain and cold I clutched an impromptu coffee and waited for either my friend or hypothermia.  Incidentally continuing say "my friend" seems a little too formal.  To protect her identity I shall henceforth refer to her merely as "Kate Jones of Ultimo who is dating Morganne Blackburn and runs the Vegan Teahouse".  It is the last part of that cunning code name that we were engaged in moving.  As its name suggests the Vegan Teahouse provides cafe style snacks that specialise in being without things.  Things like meat, meat products, things that were tested on animals, things that passed animals in the street, things that were produced by people who own animals and, quite frequently, gluten.  Sometimes flour is missing too although I understand that was actually a mistake.

With the (recently revised) time soon to be upon me I left the rather chilly embrace of the open air cafe I was hunched in and splashed through the mean streets of inner suburbia (very, very inner) where charmingly restored terrace houses rubbed shoulders with terrace houses that hadn't been restored at all and the occasional small and rather discreet block of flats.  I took a photo of the street for no other reason than to have something to post on instagram to link back to this blog.

Shortly after my arrival Kate Jones of Ultimo who is dating Morganne Blackburn and runs the Vegan Teahouse turned up with two utes and a bunch of people.  Specifically her daughter Grace, her other daughter Alex, Morganne, Yi, Edmund (who is the only other person I've met who was also born in Darwin) and a friend of Alex's whose name I was told on two separate occasions and yet which I, shamefully, cannot recall.  Incidentally continuing to say "Kate Jones of Ultimo who is dating Morganne Blackburn and runs the Vegan Teahouse" isn't really working for me so from now on I shall refer to her as Kate etc etc.

With two utes, a bunch of willing hands and a guy who knew what he was doing (Edmund not me, idiots) we hauled, shifted, carried and heaved until the two utes were full and the kitchen considerably emptier.  Flushed with success we leapt into our vehicles and headed for Marrickville taking the opportunity to pass through every narrow backstreet between our start point and our destination.  If Kate etc etc had thought to charge it could have been quite a pleasant tourist experience if the windows hadn't been fogged up.

Kate etc etc's new premises looked as thought they had been bought when the Sweeney sold its locations in a garage sale.  You could almost imagine Denis Waterman walking around being all cockney.  It was lot more easy to imagine someone being murdered and possibly a gang shootout taking place.  If it was a movie it would star Jason Statham, or possibly Denis Waterman.  Once upon a time we used warehouses to store commodities now we use them for crime and movies about crime.  And vegan snacks.  I personally blame the decline of British industry on the Sweeney and programs like it.  With all the horrible things happening in factories and warehouses British workers were probably too terrified to turn up to work.  No wonder the economy collapsed.

We strained, and sweated (although a conveniently placed hoist did most of the heavy lifting) and with Kate etc etc's quarters rapidly filling up with all things vegan we took a break for lunch at a conveniently placed  cafe.  I had toast and jam which for some reason took longer to arrive than soup, pancakes, a vegan breakfast and scrambled tofu.  We ate, we chatted and Kate etc etc threw herself with cheerful abandon at every dog that went past.  By the end of the meal spike collared rottweilers were crossing the street to avoid us.  Then it was back to Darlington to vacuum a couch and load up with the remainder of the equipment (except the couch which rendered the entire vacuuming a little superfluous).

After unloading again Kate etc etc bustled about getting things organised while most of the rest of us amused ourselves by making pigeon noises at a very fat pigeon.  The pigeon's only response was to turn around, lift its tail and crap at us which I thought was a pretty fair commentary on the quality of our pigeon noises.  It didn't deign to humour us by making a pigeon noise itself.  Finally the amusement value to be gained from making pigeon noises at a pigeon was exhausted, at least for the pigeon which walked away, so Morganne very kindly drove me home.

Incidentally after raining all over me while I was walking to Darlington the weather quite naturally turned hot and sunny when I had to help unload the cars at the warehouse.  Presumably the weather is just another one of those seemingly random things which is secretly plotting against me.