Spring into Wellington

Back into the swing, or should I say, Spring, of Wellington. Hot honey, lemon and ginger teas at Midnight Espresso, hunting for bargains at Belgian Dan's Junk/Antique shop in Ghuznee Street, finding the perfect black candles at the Candle Factory just around the corner...these are a fewofmy  favourite things. 

Train ride this morning to Porirua to collect the two framed prints I ordered last week for A. Perfectly executed I trundled them in the busy school holiday filled train back toWellington, a mere twenty five minute run, but an hour wait for the next bus home to Evans Bay. So the necessary coffee fix at the Station Cafe, where the same blonde serveuse as last time I was there with another painting, a nude, asked me if it was a nude of me this time, to which I replied, of course. She smiled with, she said, 'memories of past times'.

Home for a few phone calls and lunch before back into town, this time by bus, as I've discovered I have aggravated a shoulder wrench by dancing on Sunday night. Riding the scooter just exacerbates it so better rest for a while. Scottish Country tonight will be a lightweight affair now, as it needs rest.

Midnight Espresso, is, as ever, filled with happy chatting people, very young tonight. The music cool as always, is as  relaxing as you would want in an unpretentious, delightful way. My fragile shoulder just

serves to remind me of my age.

I take time for the first time to register the quite intricate murals next me in this busy caff, realising that so much  creativity went into its inception. I also see  mini catastrophe down the room, a tall aluminium milk shake is upturned all over the bag, table and floor of the two young beings just about to savour its taste. Late teens, unkempt blonde hair stuffed into a gum-nut beanie made of fluffy cream wool, her butch dressed girlfriend, plaid shirt, red suspenders hanging from torn jeans, is just a sweet as a butternut pumpkin. They busy themselves at trying to wipe up the milky mess, all the while giggling to themselves. No sweating the small stuff, they successfuly clean up with the aid of a swiftly arrived tea towel from the attentive waiter, who is very smiling and sympathetic but lets them do all the work. Besides, he has enough to do, the place is full and he seems the only one to serve.. 

Another titian blonde strides in, long romantic curls framing her very pretty face, as she steals in to use the facilities here. I'm sure that Midnight Espresso has been used for a lot of different activities in its long history. My shoulder continues to ache and I wonder whether I should indulge tonight in the dancing. I may just appear and apologise I think. Nothing to prove there, an early night would suit me fine.