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| Part of this week's shop window display - a series of very cool 1960s Italian coffee makers that have been much admired. The cute little double cup drip (bottom row) sold minutes after this photo was taken. |
Well
last week was huge. Seriously huge. Hurrah!
You can’t predict how each week will go, but who would have thunk that
the week after Easter would be so much better than the Easter week? Go figure.
This week has started more slowly, and yet my window display of uber
cool 1960s Italian stove-top coffee makers has already generated a great deal
of interest.
Who
knew there were so many coffee aficionados in Eumundi who knew exactly what
they were looking at, but lots of people have been stopping to
admire and
photograph the coffee makers. My guess
was that the Atomic would be the
first to go – the most famous of the coffee maker brands and a design icon, and
it would have except for a very mean wife who told her husband he was so
not getting it. He was already carrying
it to my desk when she intercepted him, and loudly told him to put it
back. He pleaded with her, telling her
that it could be his birthday and Christmas gifts in one, plus any other gift
she could think of for the foreseeable future, but she was adamant that
he wasn’t getting it. Sorry matey, but
you’re apparently getting socks and jocks for your birthday and Christmas
gifts. Normally we get mean husbands in
the shop (of which more later), but this was One Mean Wife - the first of our
“interesting” visitors this week.
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| Calypso being so helpful in conducting a final inspection of the window display. |
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| Poh the Little White SomethingorOther came by for a play date, and it was all good until she got too excited and decided to bark at Caleb. |
The interesting
visitors of last week included a family from Sydney who bought our beautiful
French cross-roads cross that dated from the 1800s. This was a lovely cast iron cross that
featured Mary in the centre, the initials for Ave Maria towards the bottom, and
Mary was surrounded by lots of Roses of Sharon, which I think is the only
flower specifically mentioned in the Bible.
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| Big mistake, Poh - don't you be barking at Caleb unless you want a solid clobbering in return. He put some force into this blow - it wasn't a pat on the nose, it was a serious roundhouse punch to the nose. |
And now I’m talking about the cross-roads cross I regret that I didn’t photograph it before it left the shop. You know I am the world’s worst photojournalist because I keep forgetting to get my camera out, but I have received a rap over the knuckles from an internet business trainer about this and have promised to lift my game. Just don’t tell him that I forgot to photograph something the very next day after he gave me a talking to. He suggested that I video the next time we’re walking through the Paris Markets. Ha! As if! Firstly I barely remember my camera, let alone some video device, and secondly I’m generally pretty busy shopping til I fall down dead when I’m in the Paris Markets. But anyway, with the new! improved! website that will probably eventuate later this year I will try to get all 21st century and include video as well as photos. Maybe. No promises.
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| Realising the error of her ways, Poh squeals and decides to hotfoot it out of the shop. But Caleb wasn't letting her off the hook so easily and gave chase. At this point I had to ditch the camera to rescue the dog. |
But
anyway, I digress - back to cross-roads crosses: they are still seen in the backblocks of
Normandy and Brittany, and they have an interesting history. Superstition suggests that cross-roads at
dawn and dusk are places of considerable supernatural power and so it can be
quite dangerous to find yourself there at those times. So large crosses were often erected at
cross-roads, to protect travelers. We’ve
only ever seen one in the UK, not far from Norwich, and that is an enormous
granite one and quite crude, though compelling.
The rest in the UK were either stolen or moved into museums.
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| The next potential play date was a Rhodesian Ridgeback. She turned out to be too boisterous to be allowed into the shop, so hellos had to be made through a window. |
In
France, though, you can still see them in situ. They are made from iron or stone, and are
really lovely. They rarely come onto the
market, and when they do you have to move smartly to secure them because they
are snapped up by the first dealer who sees them. We have developed a good relationship with a
dealer in Brittany, though, who knows we really want these types of things
(including any metal ecclesiastical pieces), so he always shows us his special stock.
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| Her owners couldn't get her to settle, so Caleb took matters into his own paws. A Bengal Death Stare (he learned that from Calypso) and a quick snarl really focused the mutt, and she stood still like a good girl so a proper greeting could be made. The dog's owner said she has never been as effective as Caleb was in focusing the dog on behaving herself. It no doubt helps if you can peel back your lips to show off a mouthful of big Bengal teeth. |
So it
was all good that the lady who bought the cross-roads cross was so pleased to
get it. It was a little strange, though,
when she told me that she plans to use it in her spells. Goodness knows what that involves. Who
knew you could invoke the Virgin Mary through witchcraft? In Darlinghurst
you can, apparently. But anyway, she was very excited about it, and made
her son carry it to their car over his shoulder, a la Jesus, which would have
taken some doing because it was a dang heavy piece. I said if only you
had bought it over the Easter weekend it would have looked far more in keeping,
but better late than never. So that was
a good sale, so yay for Paganism!
Later
in the day a man came in and looked at our small collection of meat
cleavers. You know what meat cleavers
look like, so I don’t have to photograph them for you. Anyway, he said they were staying with a chap
in Noosa who has a number of meat cleavers, and my visitor said he thought they
were for cutting cane. But no, they’re
meat cleavers.
I said that with a
collection of big sharp things maybe his host is actually a mass murderer, and
this man took me seriously! He frowned
at me. Do you really think so? he asked.
No, I’m joking I said. Hmmm,
he said, it is strange, though,
don’t you think? Really, I said, I’m just joking. Lots of people
have collections of interesting kitchen things, including me. But by then he had a faraway look in his eyes
and wasn’t listening anymore. Oh dear,
you’re not meant to take me seriously when I say patently silly things. On the other hand, maybe I’ve just thwarted a
murderous rampage in Noosa and saved this guy’s life. In fact, when you think about it, I’m a total
heroine and my every word should be heeded.
Yeah, let’s go with that.
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| A random shot of what's on display on the Welsh dresser this week. The plates are tin, which many people don't realize until they pick them up. These are excellent if you have a husband who has taken to dropping really expensive ceramic plates, and they've proven to be surprisingly popular. Lots of clutz husbands out there, I guess. |
The
Mean Husband for the week was this awful man, who from out on the street I
could hear telling his wife that she wasn’t allowed to buy anything in our
shop, but if she did she had to pay for it out of her own money and it had to
be put in her room and nowhere else in the house. What a romantic devil. So in they came, and he immediately announced
I’m only interested in silver marrow
spoons. I said And of course you are also interested in making your wife happy,
because remember: Happy Wife, Happy Life.
He marched up to my desk, loomed over it, and said I’ll have you know that as of two days ago we have been married for 43
years. I turned to his wife and said
But it seems so much longer, doesn’t it? She laughed and said Oh yes! And I’m not
interested in silver marrow spoons! I had a friend with me and all of us women
cacked ourselves, while he harrumphed and marched out. And hey Mean Husband, no-one buys silver
marrow spoons anymore. They were a total
affectation back in the Victorian era, and they certainly identify you as a bit
of a Pratt these days.
For everyone who would prefer to avoid Prattdom, marrow spoons are long and narrow and were used by the head of the table for extracting the marrow from the bones of roast dinners. Marrow is good for you, you know, and it's true that the English in the Victorian era had a tool for absolutely everything. But even by their standards brandishing a solid silver marrow spoon at the dinner table was considered a little bit too "new money". If you had to buy your household goods and furniture rather than inherit them, you were probably a crass merchant-made-good (ie. new money), rather than from a proper old family with old money. New money wasn't considered to have any taste, and would make outlandish displays of wealth by buying almost useless but hugely expensive things. These days, buying silver marrow spoons falls into the Not Very Stylish category at best, and Downright Pratt category if you insist on boasting that this is what you buy.
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| The first of the Building the Rest of Our House photos. This is Dale and Errol, the builders, doing a final measurement to ensure that the steps to the front door are built where they're meant to be. All those trees are too close to where the house will be and so have to go, apparently. It's a pity but we have many thousands of other trees. |
In
between our more interesting (you know I really mean weird) visitors last week
there were heaps of sales, which necessitated Doug and I hitting the garage to find
some interesting stock. I’m gobsmacked
at all the good stuff we’re finding, and it’s a relief to see that we’re not
having to drop our standards even though we didn’t do a March buying trip this
year. And just as well we’re here,
because the builder has required heaps of decisions to be made – not that he
always likes what we decide, but he’ll cope.
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| But see that Poinciana? I don't care what the builders say, that tree is staying. Build around it, boys, because I will not budge on this. |
